Scars To Remember
by CelticQueen09
Summary: ***Collab with scarylolita.*** When the successful business tycoon Eric Cartman returns to South Park due to an emergency, he is shocked to run into the fragile shell of his childhood friend Kyle Broflovski, or what's left of him. Kyman.
1. Chapter 1

**Kyle's POV**

It's one game of musical fuck-chairs after another. I've had the cops at my door a few times, accusing me of turning tricks. That's not my kind of game. I like to fuck, but I don't care about money.

I spent my high school years being team-slut for the basketball team. Nothing has really changed since then except now I don't really leave the house.

Everyone kind of grew apart in high school. Those years are long gone. I'm twenty-six now. I should have my life together. I should be like Stanley Marsh, married to a nice girl living a white-picket-fence lifestyle. I should be the breadwinner of my parents' silent expectations. But no. Instead, I'm a shut-in who works at home and never leaves. I think everyone has forgotten about me apart from the people I fuck. Every night it's one adult sleepover after another. The pricks are always gone in the morning, thankfully. I sleep with a lot of eyesores. I don't want to wake up next to one.

I absentmindedly gather my thoughts as I see another e-mail pop up from my boss. I hate my job. I work for a big-wig phone company at home and while it pays well, it's so monotonous and dreary and there is absolutely no challenge in it.

I also hate the assholes I sleep with. Sometimes I go a long, long time without sex. Other times I can't go a day. Even when I do fuck, it can be alright, if at that. Sex is always better in a relationship... but the idea of a "relationship" is a fucking joke. I can't even begin to remotely _like_ myself, let alone _love_ myself. How the fuck can I ever care for someone else?

Actually, there's only one thing that feels really good physically to me... but it's pretty fucked up.

I stretch my arms out in front of me, hoping to feel more awake. At least, awake enough to get through the day. As I do that, I feel my most recent mark itch. I roll up my left sleeve and scratched it, forceful enough to take care of the itch but careful enough to not peel the scab.

It amazes me how none of the assholes I fuck have said anything about my scars. I mean, maybe they're thinking it, but they don't have the balls to say anything. Of course, fucking in a completely pitch-black room helps, too. But I swear to God, every time I feel that sting after slicing myself, it feels much better than any pounding I've received (or given). It feels like a spiritual, out-of-body experience. It's also the only thing that feels right for someone like me. It's cathartic. When you hurt your body, it works overtime to release endorphins. They calm you down. They relax you. It feels fucking good. Then your body works to heal you. I guess this is your body's way of saying, "I love you." Too bad I can never say it in return, or even express a sentiment remotely similar. I guess this is self-hatred. Bad things feel good and good things feel bad. I tend to avoid anything that might be good for me. I get scared and the potential of someone treating me right is enough to chase me off. Jesus Christ, I sound like a mess. I guess I am a mess. An emotionally stifled mess. This is how I let it out. It comes out with my blood.

I haven't done much dating. I don't know what kind of guy I'd fall for. Probably an asshole I feel like I'd go catatonic if someone told me they loved me. I wouldn't be able to handle hearing that kind of confession.

"I love you."

Actually, it's been a long time since I've heard these words from anyone. Even my parents.

You see, they are always preoccupied with Ike. Despite the fact that he's 21 and his IQ is – and always has been – off the charts, my parents very much baby him. I mean, they basically have to do everything for him.

I was in my senior year of high school the first time Ike smoked pot. It was around midnight on a Tuesday night when he came in late after mom and dad had fallen asleep. I was just dicking around on my laptop with the TV on in the family room, just putting off going to bed. I could smell the weed as soon as he stepped in the house.

"Ike...?" I asked, while he immediately trudged towards the stairs.

"What, Kyle?" he said defensively. I saw how blood-shot his eyes were.

"Have you been smoking?" I asked, concerned.

"Why, are you gonna fucking narc?!" he yelled.

"Shh, mom and dad are asleep!" I said in a loud whisper.

He stood there, waiting for an answer.

I sighed. "No, Ike. I'm not going to narc. Just go to bed."

At first, I didn't really think much of it. I mean, fuck, everyone tries weed at some point in their life, right? But I started to worry when his behavior really started changing. He was withdrawing from his friends, skipping school… and there was one time he went on a road trip out of state by himself and decided not to tell anyone. I still remember how much both my parents cried and the sleepless that we all had. I remember comforting my mom after she came back from the police station to fill out a missing person report.

I also remember the first time Ike tried to commit suicide.

"Hey Ike, mom and dad aren't back yet from synagogue, you wanna play some basket–"

He had borrowed a friend's gun (supposedly for "hunting reasons") and he was standing in the middle of his room at 1:15 p.m. on a Sunday afternoon holding the hunting rifle to his heart. I immediately ran up to him, fought for the rifle and pulled it upward as he pulled the trigger.

Ike shot a hole in his ceiling as I aggressively yanked the rifle from him and threw it across the room. "FUCK YOU, KYLE!" he screamed as he pushed me, tears streaming down his face. "YOU FUCKING RUINED IT!" He continued to scream while breaking out in loud sobs.

I wrapped my arms around his thin frame tightly as we both sunk to the floor, me crying silent tears and Ike's body wracking with each immense sob.

It wasn't long after that day that my parents found all his prescription drugs. He started walking around like a zombie, not thinking or feeling much of anything. It was unsettling to watch. I don't know if it was the drugs making him feel normal or if it was the drugs keeping him that way.

It's funny, in a sad way. I tried so damn hard to protect him when we were kids. I tried to be the older brother keeping the younger brother safe. I guess I didn't do a good job, because something happened to him and now he's completely fucked up. He spent time with an older crowd and I guess that's how he got all the drugs. I don't want to think about what he did to get them. Ike has never had a job. He didn't have much money, either. He still doesn't, yet I have a feeling he's still not sober.

I don't see him much now. I don't see much of anyone these days. I almost prefer it. If I don't see them, then I don't have to think about them. If I don't have to think about them, I can pretend things aren't as bad as they really are. I guess it's immature, but it's all I really can do.

Sometimes I think I should stop and go visit him, but I never do. I can't bring myself to leave my apartment.

I don't stay home all the time out of fear. Rather, I don't leave my apartment because I have no reason to. Besides getting groceries and running basic errands, I just don't see any logical reason to do it. Most of my childhood friends have married up or moved away. Sometimes I check up on Stan, Cartman, and Butters on Facebook, and they all seem to be doing well. Stan is married and has a family with Wendy, Cartman is a linguist for some big-wig German company and is working downtown in Denver, and Butters is an elementary school teacher, but in a nicer suburban town of Denver than South Park. Kenny is the only one who is still here, and he's working as a bartender. Actually, if I DO ever talk to anyone, it will be him. Kenny's tried to get me to hang out repeatedly, but I think lately he's just given up. I always come up with some lame excuse as to why I don't have "time".

The truth is I have more time than I need. So much time that it seems like I'm always "in my head", never concentrating on the task at hand. In fact, it takes me a minute to realize that I just got a text.

I never get texts. I pick up my phone and see that – speak of the devil – it's Kenny. I debate on ignoring him and just going about my day, but I'd probably feel guilty about it later on. He always makes an effort and I never do. So, I open the screen up and read what he has to say.

KENNY: Hey, dude. Have you heard the news?  
ME: No.  
KENNY: Guess who just croaked?

I frown at that and feel a knot in my stomach. Someone is dead?

ME: Who?  
KENNY: Liane Cartman.  
ME: How?

I feel kind of sad. When I was young, Liane was always nice to me. She was nice to most people. I think she was too nice and Cartman took advantage of it. I think a lot of people took advantage of it. She had a lot of issues. I guess that's common here in South Park. Shitty little whitebread towns like this are just cesspools of trash for the masses of fucked up people that live in them.

ME: Have you heard from Cartman?  
KENNY: No, not yet.  
ME: Shit, do you even have his number? I don't.  
KENNY: No I don't either. I'm going to message him and see what I can find out.  
ME: K. Lmk when you do.  
KENNY: Kk.

I breath out heavily and start thinking about him... About Fatass. Last I heard, he climbed up the corporate ladder at he worked his way up, just starting out as a bilingual customer service representative. Just looking at his pictures on Facebook, he seems so happy, so driven. How the hell is he going to deal with losing the only person in his life that ever mattered to him? Who the hell knows? Maybe he won't care. Cartman is like that. He killed his own father, after all. He's not emotionally stable... but I guess I can't really talk because I'm not either. I swear, this town is cursed. Everyone running around here is so unbelievably fucked up.

I set my phone aside and start pacing. I don't want to think about that fat shit, but I can't help but feel bad for him now. I don't know how I'd feel if I lost a family member. It almost happened... Almost. I don't know what I would have done if Ike was successful. I don't know where'd I'd be right now. I know I'd be a hell of a lot more miserable than I already am and I guess that's saying quite a lot.

What will I say to him? "I'm sorry for your loss." That's so generic, so vague. And yet, I can't think of anything better to say to him. Will he be sad? Will he be upset? Knowing Cartman, he'll hide his emotions and act like it's not a big deal. Maybe he'll isolate himself like I have been doing recently, too. Actually, I really don't know Cartman. It has been years since I ran into him... At least 3 years. That's enough time for anyone to change. Maybe working in corporate America has made him more of an asshole, or maybe he actually matured and isn't the same, selfish kid that I knew growing up. Why am I pacing back and forth? Am I actually nervous to see him? I guess I would be if it were Stan or Butters, too. No... That's not true. The truth is, all these years Cartman and I have had a real connection. A weird and fucked-up connection, yes, but it's it has always been a strong connection regardless. In a lot of ways, he has always been smarter and more insightful than Stan, and- especially when I didn't want him to- He always knew what I was thinking or feeling. But I really don't want him to know what I'm thinking or feeling now.

When I first went to college, Ike was in and out of rehab and I was cutting myself every day. Cartman and I both went to South Park University. He graduated in four years, while I took my sweet time, took some semesters off, changed my major, etc. I finally graduated last year.

One day, we were both walking back to the parking deck together when finals had just ended in the beginning of May.

"'Sup, Jew?"

"Hey Fatass."

"What final did you just take?"

"Anthropology. You?"

"Ohh, Calc 2. Pretty sure I aced it," he said, in a cocky tone.

"Whatever," I replied, trying to hurry up and get to my car. I intentionally walked faster, to get ahead of him. I sighed a breath of relief when I found my car.

"Ay! Slow down, Kike!"

I dropped my backpack to the ground and turned around. "What, Cartman?" There was obvious irritation dripping in my tone.

The fatass walked closer, then he stopped about a foot away directly in front of me. "Why are you wearing a fucking sweater, Jew?"

I raised an eyebrow. "What the fuck...?"

"It's 75 degrees today and the sun is out. Come to think of it, I never see you wearing anything with short-sleeves anymore..."

My heart started beating fast and I fished for my keys in my pocket and then walked over to the driver's side. "I get cold a lot," I explained as I hurriedly threw my backpack in the back seat.

Fatass walked up and stood right in front of the back door of my car immediately after I shut it.  
"What's really going on, Kahl?" he asked in a plain tone. "You're not the same Jew I used to know."

"I'm fine Cartman, really," I said. I half-assed a reassuring smile (and I could tell by Cartman's facial expression that he wasn't too convinced). "I got a lot of stuff to do… I'll see yah later," and then I got in the car and turned the ignition on.

I suppose it's bad to lie to your friends, but what the fuck was I supposed to say? I've been forced to keep too many family secrets and now I'm keeping my own secrets.

It's funny. Out of all the things I could have gotten addicted to… drugs, alcohol, gambling… I ended up getting addicted to cutting myself. In a way, it's even more fucked up than any other addiction. Maybe I'm addicted to sex, too. Sometimes I wonder. Sometimes I feel like I need it, but it's not necessarily because I'm horny. Sometimes it's just so I know I'm here… if that makes any sense. It's like I need someone's hands on me to remind me that I'm a real person. Whether or not they're gentle doesn't matter. It's a sensation. It tells me that I'm alive and all that shit. I guess the blood is proof, too. I'm alive, but I'm not quite living. It's easier this way. I don't want to go outside. I don't want to meet people. I don't want to make new friends. I don't want to grow attached to anyone. All of that only leads to disappointment. I don't care how jaded I sound. People have done nothing but disappoint me. No exceptions. I doubt that will change. I don't know if I even want it to change.

Part of me is comfortable with the mundane and ugly life I have. Blood and fucking. I guess it's all I need.


	2. Chapter 2

**Eric's POV**

I fucking hate this town.

I'm driving and I pass Hall's Pass, I pass the old elementary school, and I pass Stark's Park. I hate it. I hate it all. The small town mentality, the small town perimeters, I guess I just hate that it's a small town.

Once you get used to life in the city, you realize just how shitty you had it growing up.  
But I never hated making the commute and driving back to this shitty little town whenever I had some time off. Back then, that was because it was only to see... her.

I feel something getting caught in my throat. I swallow and try to shove both – the choking sensation in my throat as well as the rush of self-pity in my heart – out of the way. I'm here to take care of business, and besides they'll be plenty of time to cry later. But hopefully no one will see me when I do.

Growing up, I didn't give a flying fuck who saw me when I cried like a little bitch. It's funny what a little bit of education, prestige, money, and time will do to a person. I guess it's a thing called "pride."

I never did really keep in touch with my childhood friends. And I don't really have any "friends" that I hang out with now. I've had some intense but short-lived relationships... None were long enough to really mean anything. But more importantly, none of them were long enough where I got the chance to bring home a girlfriend to my mom. I really, really, really fucking wanted to do that. Not so much to show off what a catch I had on my arm, but more so to make my mom happy. While she didn't pressure me, she did mention a couple times how, if I ever meet someone special, she would like to meet her.

But the fucking truth is, there weren't just "hers". There were some "hims", too.

Now, I'm not fucking gay. Yeah, I've fucked some guys, but I've never dated one. Still, whenever a new thing with a girl didn't work out I always went back to fucking guys. To be honest, this shit kinda bothered me. It was something that no one knew about me. And at least my mom can rest not knowing that I've both been the pitcher and the catcher with random dudes.

There's a secret I'll probably take to the grave. People don't need to know that shit about me, especially not people in this asscrack of a town. I don't want to get my jumped or get fag-dragged around these dusty, dirt roads. I hear that still do that kind of shit in pissant towns like this and I'm not looking to get road rash on every square inch of me.

God, I don't want to be here. I hate it here. I hate all the crusty, crazy, uneducated, gun-toting, bible belt hicks.

It sucks that I have to be here and the reason for it makes everything even shittier. When I finally arrive at my destination, I park and make my way into the building. It's white. Everything is white. It smells sterile. I approach the front desk and a minute later I'm taken into a back room by a guy in a white coat. It looks like something straight out of a horror film – walls of cold chambers. We stop in front of one and the doctor opens it up, pulling a body out on the silver tray. It's covered by a blanket, but I'm already prepared for what I'm about to see. When the doctor pulls back the fabric, there are no surprises.

"Yeah, that's her," I say, forcing myself to keep calm and collected.

The doctor nods. "Would you like me to give you a minute?"

"Doesn't matter," I mutter. The doctor takes that as a yes and leaves me alone in the room with the body. With a frown, I stare down at the corpse. It doesn't even look like her. It's so… lifeless. "Hey, Mom," I murmur, letting out a sigh.

I just stare at her. It's creepy, she almost seems alive. I breathe a sigh of relief. The hospital did a decent job of cleaning her up; from the details I was given about the accident, she was almost discombobulated. Now looking at her, it's hard to believe that all that took place. Yes, she has a ton of stitches along her arms, and one on her forehead. She has some swelling along with bruising. But, despite all that, she looks peaceful, like she's only sleeping.

Before I know it, old memories worm their way into my mind.

"MYYYUUUMMM!" I yelled, running up along her bedside. I was still fat and short, and my forehead barely made it over the bed. "MYUUUUMMM! I'm hungry!" I yelled in my high-pitch voice. I observed as my mom laid there for a minute before my voice pulled her out of consciousness. Back then I couldn't see it, but she really was a beautiful woman. The thick, brown hair, her cute turned up nose, her dimples... And how patient she was with a little shit like me made her even more beautiful.

"Mmmm," she moaned, blinking her eyes. "What is it, poopsikins? Mommy is trying to take a nap," she said sweetly.

"I'm fucking HUNGRY, myum!" I pouted as I slammed my two chubby fists up against the bed.

I watched mom yawned. "Okay sweetie," she said, slowly propping herself up. "What would you like for dinner?" she asked as she maneuvered her legs to the side of the bed.

"I want fucking KFC, myum!" I spat. "Not any of that shit you tried to cook for me the other night! That shit was GROSS!"

Mom stretched her arms again as she reach for her cellphone on the in table. "Okay sweetie," she purred. "Just give mommy and KFC about 20 minutes, okay?"

I blink while staring at my mom's deceased body, wondering why that random memory just popped into my head. Fuck, I was such a little shit back then that did not deserve someone like her as a mom. I feel my eyes start to water and I quickly wipe my eyes with the back of my hands.

I walk to the door and stick my head outside the room.

"You finished?" the doctor asks me.

I scoff. What kinda lame-ass question is that? "Yeah," is all I say.

I can't shake the feeling that I should have spent more time with her. Even as a kid I couldn't wait to get away from her. I guess I took it all for granted and now it's too late.

I sign some papers and then make funeral arrangements. It's going to be small. I don't know if my mother even had any friends. I think that's why she was so permissive to me when I was a kid. She was looking for a friend. It's so fucking depressing I want to throw up. I should have been there for her. She shouldn't have died like this. She was doing better. She was sober. She had a straight-laced job.

I guess it doesn't matter, though. Like I said, it's too late.

.

.

After a really shitty day, I return to the apartment I'm renting out. I don't know how long I'll be in this shit-stain of a town. Either way, I can take my work with me. When I arrive "home" I open up my laptop and spend the rest of the night responding to emails from some of my moronic co-workers.

Shit, shit and more shit. I feel myself grow angry for no apparent reason, so I slam my laptop shut and then it's quiet. For a split second, at least.

"_Oh, fuck_!" I hear, followed by a string of moans and demands for "more" and "harder".

I click my tongue. Apparently my next door neighbor is scoring.

I pay it little mind, moving into the kitchen and deciding to pour myself a glass of wine. I'm not a big drinker, but I like to have a glass of wine every so often – especially when I'm stressed out.

Unfortunately, the annoying sex sounds are only louder in the kitchen.

"Oh, God! _YESS_!"

What the fuck? Sounds like a dude doing most of the moaning! The girl must be riding his dick hard.

I chug the last bit of wine and then rinse it out in the sink. "Ay!" I yell as I hit the wall with the side of my fist. "Shut the fuck up! I'll call the cops"

Then I hear the moans louder and the sound of the bed move faster.

Mother fucker! I'm not going to be able to get to sleep tonight after a fucked up day because of this selfish, horny couple?! I quickly grab my cellphone and my keys, slam my door, and knock on my neighbors' door. I don't pummel the door but I knock loud enough that they can hear it over the sex. Then, finally, the noise stops. I hear some low-toned conversation and then some shuffling.

When the door becomes ajar, I don't even wait to see who it is before I go off.

"For Christ's sake, can you keep your fucking DOWN?!" Then the door opens all the way. I stare at a guy in a dark green terry cloth robe with messy, curly red hair. Despite his comical hair and the multiple freckles he has on his face, he stares at me with an "eat-shit" expression.

Wait... Don't I know this asshole?

"Kahl?" I ask in a deadpan, nearly squinting at him.

And he actually has the audacity to smirk at me. "Eric Cartman," he says in a simper. "In the flesh. Someone pinch me."

He's changed. Right away I notice it. Sure, the hair is the same and the freckles are the same... He's _almost_ as tall as me now, but certainly not as broad. Apart from that, there's something different in the way he carries himself. There's something catty and malicious about his tone. I guess a few years apart were bound to change him in some ways. He looks like a depressed soccer mom and the robe definitely isn't helping to negate that image.

Before I can respond, a guy - presumably the guy who was pounding Kyle - shoves past us and walks down the hall. He's big and burly and kind of homely. Huh. I guess the Jew's a fag... clearly a fag with no fucking standards. I sneer at him and snap, "Watch it, asshole!" only to be ignored.

With a careless sigh, Kyle makes a move to close the door but I stop him. "Kahl, what the _fuck_?" I demand, though perhaps I have no right. What am I even demanding? It's always been like this between us. Complicated. Who the fuck knows why?

He fucking reeks of sex. It makes me want to recoil and move away, but I don't.

He pauses and stares at me. "Sorry about your mom," he says and it sounds genuine.

With a sigh, I nod my head. "You heard about that?"

"Everyone did," Kyle responds, finally letting go of the door. For an awkward second, we stand there, looking at each other. "You, uhh, wanna come in?" The Jew asks me.

His sudden change of tone makes me feel uneasy. "Well, I wouldn't want to interrupt anything, Kahl." I try to make my new tone not sound awkward.

The redhead scratches his head. "It's a little too late for that, Fatass," he snarks, looking at me with a sarcastic expression. "C'mon. I'm sure I can find something His Majesty might accept as a beverage." He nudges the door open as I walk past him and into his family room. Just like my apartment, it's small and modest, but it's fine for a bachelor, I guess. I notice that there's a ton of artwork and that the Jew really has a taste for vintage and ornate decor. I would never fucking say it, but I'm almost impressed. I sit down on a leather chair next to his couch. After the redhead locks the door, he stalks over to the kitchen and opens the fridge. "Let's see... I've got coke, orange juice, milk... Oh, and I've got some Coronas and Blue Moon, if you drink."

"I'll take a Blue Moon," I answer, thinking that I really could use a drink after all the shit today.

I hear him pull out two Blue Moons, open both of them, and then carry then over and he hands me mine. The Kike sits adjacent from me on the couch.

"Thanks for the drink," I say, after taking a swig.

"It's no big deal." Kyle takes a swig right after me.

"Look, I didn't mean to be a total dick earlier," I explain. "It's just that today is my first day back in South Park, and I had to drive straight to Hell's Pass to-"

"'S'fine," the Jew interrupts me. "I'm usually not that loud, but I'll try to keep it down next time."

Next time? Was that ugly asshole...?

"You mean, that ugly asshole is your boyfriend?!" I can't help but let my disapproval show both in my tone and in my facial expression.

"No douche-wad," he replies nonchalantly. "That guy is just some guy I fuck... Sometimes."

'Just some guy I fuck'...? Am I really hearing this? Kyle Broflovski, the Jewish, holier-than-thou, know-it-all, little shit-stain, pious, pain-in-the-ass goodie-goodie that I grew up with – did those words really just come out of his mouth?

"Oh," is all I can manage to say. "What's his name?"

Kyle scrunches up his face, thinking hard. "Travis, I think? Yeah I think it's Travis."

I can't help but notice the awkward silence in the living room.

"No, it's Trevor! Yeah, Trevor! My bad," he says, chuckling a bit. "Travis is someone else."

Someone else? Jesus fucking Christ, this guy...

"Well, I guess everyone has to have random hook-ups every now and then," I say, trying to make the situation a little less weird.

"Or every night," Kyle boldly chimes in.

"Every night?"

"Well, maybe I'm exaggerating," he says. "Sometimes I can go a week- hell, maybe even two weeks- without sex…"

I don't know why, but my heart feels like it's sinking the more I talk to the Jew. This is NOT what I would've ever imagined Kyle to be like as an adult.

"So... there's... others...?" I ask, dragging out the words.

"Of course there's others, Fatass!" he snaps. "God, I don't even know why I'm telling you all this and we haven't seen each other in years. I guess because you caught me fucking, so it's only fair to explain the situation."

"Christ," I mutter, somewhat angry and somewhat disgusting – though I shouldn't be. What right do I have? The damn Jew is allowed to screw up his life if that's what he wants.

He softens a split second later, taking a long swig and finishing his drink. "Be right back," he says. He's gone for a brief moment and when he returns he has another bottle.

"Christ," I mutter again.

He just smiles. "What?" he asks me. "Surprised? Don't bother denying it. I can read it on your face. Who would have thought Kyle Broflovski would be the one to end up a slut with no standards? I might seem like I've gotten dull, but I'm a crazy lay. At least, that's what my fucks tell me. Shame, right? At one point in my life, I probably had a lot going for me... Now all I have is this."

I try not to look too disgruntled. "You were the smartest kid in our grade."

"Yeah," he whispers. "Things change."

"So, uh, what do you do?" I pry. "Job-wise, I mean?"

"I work from home," he says vaguely before explaining, "I work for a phone company."

"Mundane," I tell him.

"Pretty much," he agrees.

It doesn't take the Jew long to down his second drink. I can't help but wonder if he's already drunk. Maybe he started drinking earlier. I wouldn't blame him. The only way I'd be able to fuck around with an eyesore like "Trevor" is if I was fucking wrecked. I prefer cute faces. I stare at Kyle. I suppose it's not surprising that he gets fucked by a lot of guys. He's not that bad looking. He has ridiculous hair, but his face is all right. Still, I can't picture him without the stupid hair. It suits him.

He must drink a lot and by the looks of it, he drinks fast. He looks hazy. He rubs the back of his hand over his forehead before taking another swig and then another and then another. I feel like I'm sitting here watching the moments before train wreck - I know it's about to happen but there's nothing much I can do to stop it.

"You work tomorrow?" I ask, trying to make casual conversation (which is not really what I'm used to).

"Yeeep," he answers with a bitter tone. "What about you?" The Jew must see my pissed-off expression because he's quick to correct himself. "Ohh, that's right. You're here in town because... I'm sorry, my bad." His face is red, and I can't tell if that's from his embarrassment or his drinking. Before I get the chance to make a harsh anti-Semitic remark, the redhead throws another question at me. "So, what DO you do?"

"What do I DO, Jew?" I spit back sarcastically.

"Yah know, work, for your career, job-wise?" he explains facetiously. "Your degree was international business, right?"

"No, Kike," I snap. "It was German with a business concentration."

"Ohhh, that's right!" He takes another long drink of his beer. Then- for whatever reason- he begins to chuckle.

"What's so funny, Jew?" I feel blood pressure rising.

"Ohh nothing, just thought of something funny." Kyle takes another long swig.

"What's so funny, KAHL?" I press.

"Umm, it's just-" He coughs for a second, trying to drink successfully and laugh at the same time. "You must be a very cunning linguist, aren't cha Cartman?"

I stand up, move in front of the kike, snatch his beer, and slam it down on the coffee table- strong enough where it makes a loud noise and spills a bit but gentile enough where it doesn't shatter. I grab the two sides of his terry cloth robe, and bring his face close to mine. Surprisingly, he is light. That or I'm just so goddamn pissed off that I can't feel anything but adrenaline running through my veins.

"I don't know if you're drunk or not right now, Kahl," I say in a low, raspy voice. "But I just drove 45 minutes from my apartment in downtown Denver as soon as I heard about my mom getting T-boned by some piece-of-shit drunk driver," I pause, making sure that he is listening. Although just minutes before he was closing his eyes a lot, now they are wide open in fear. Up-close, the Jew smells like a fucking brewery. "I know you Jews don't ever think about anyone than your beady-eyed selves, so I KNOW that it would be too much to ask you to be respectful of the situation." My voice is getting a little louder and I perfectly articulate every word. "But never in a million YEARS would I guess that perfect, little Kyle Broflovski would turn into such a low-life shit-stain!" I let go of his robe and he falls back on the couch, silent.

He's disheveled. His robe slips past his shoulder and he doesn't make a move to fix himself. He looks stunned. At what? I don't know. It's not like this is anything new for us.

"I'm not," he says finally. It's a weak protest, like he's just saying it because he knows he should... but he probably knows I'm right.

"You're not what?" I snort. "A low-life shit-stain?"

He frowns at me, eyes narrowing. "Stop," he whispers sharply.

I dismiss it. Instead, I nod towards his robe. "Gonna fix that?"

"Why does it matter?" he asks nonchalantly. "It's not like there's any part of me you haven't seen before. I can't recall the amount of times I've caught you at my window watching me undress."

"We were kids," I remind him. "We're grown-ass men now."

He waves a dismissive hand and when I think he's about to adjust his robe, he does something else instead. He pulls back more of the fabric. He does it in a slow, teasing way.

"Stop," I demand tersely, yet I can't look away.

"Why?" he asks me. He stands up and reaches for the tie, undoing it with ease and then sliding out of the robe. The fabric pools at his feet and he's standing in front of me without a stitch of clothing on. I almost choke, clasping a hand over my mouth.

Kyle Broflovski is fucking batshit. The evidence is written all over his skin.

"What the FUCK is wrong with your arms and legs?!" I exclaim.

Kyle has so many cuts and scars... up and down his forearms and inside the calves of his legs. He even has some on his stomach. There's some old, silvery looking scars along with fresher, pinker ones. There's some scabs healing and some that you can tell the Jew has been scratching. While most of the lacerations are in the same direction, I can tell that he's made some diagonal and- because of just how many are covering his limbs- many of his lines overlap each other. I feel sad and repulsed at the same time. Sure, I've heard of self-mutilation, but I always thought that was something that girls or emo, suicidal fags do. Not people who come from good families. Not people with a high IQ. Not people who have so much strength and stubbornness... At least, that's the way Kyle USED to be. Does he really fucking hate himself this much?

"Oh, these?" he says with a shrug. "Sorry. They can kinda be an eyesore, but that doesn't change what a good fuck I am," the kike adds as he takes a step closer to me. He leans in and tries to kiss me.

"Kahl?!" I say as I take a step back, panicking because I'm not really sure if I understand what the fuck is going on right now.

The Jew blinks in shock. I clear my throat and I put both of my hands up in front of me, as if shielding myself from any more advances.

"Kahl," I say, I little louder and with more control. "I need to go to bed. You should probably do the same, Jew." I feel my pockets and make sure that I still have my cell phone and keys on me, then I head for the door.

"Asshole," I hear him mutter.

I turn around and raise an eyebrow at him. "You're drunk. _Really_ drunk. I'm not gonna fuck you like that, stupid Jew bitch. Stop whining. Put your house coat back on and go to bed."

He's staring down at the floor, visibly dejected. Maybe he's not used to being rejected, but I don't give a shit.

"Kahl?" I say his name for what feels like the billionth time.

He doesn't answer. He sinks to the floor, kneeling. I watch, hoping he doesn't throw a tantrum. He was good at that when we were kids. He fucked up his vocal cords and now his voice is permanently hoarse.

With an impatient sigh, I move back into the room. I pick up his robe, draping it over his shoulders. "Come on," I urge him. "Fucking stand up and stop acting like a child."

He won't look at me. He just continues staring at the floor. Fucking hell, I hope he's not crying. I don't want to have to deal with that flavor of bullshit tonight.

"Fuck's sake," I whisper to myself, grabbing him by the shoulders and forcing him to stand.

He knocks my hands away and finally looks up at me. No tears.

"Good now?" I ask him.

He forces a laugh and says, "Yeah, whatever. Goodnight."

I watch as he goes to his room and slams the door, leaving me in his living room.

What a hot fucking mess.


	3. Chapter 3

**Kyle's POV**

Fuck. _Fuck_!

Why did I do that? Why did I have to come onto him like that? I'm not even interested in him... I just wanted to get one over on him. I thought it'd be like a funny joke if I actually got him to fuck me. Jokes on me, though, 'cause he was far from interested.

I hold my head in my hands and try not to think about last night's complete and utter humiliation. I'm not used to being rejected. I can't recall ever being rejected like that in my life. God, I feel like I'll never recover. I don't even want to get out of bed now. I run my fingers through my hair before knotting them in the curly strands and pulling.

He didn't want me. Former fat, short, sadistic piece of shit Eric Cartman didn't want to fuck me. He was disgusted with me, I could tell. Hell, I guess I don't blame him. I'm a pretty gross guy.

I let out a calm breath, resting my palms on my knees for a few minutes before finally forcing myself to up. I wander out of the room, across the hallway and into the bathroom. I stare at myself in the mirror. I'm not a bad looking guy... I'm a bit thin, but I have a nice face and a nice ass. So, why didn't he want me?

Probably the scars. I'm damaged goods. Ha.

I know I had one too many last night too. When I went back in the kitchen to grab another drink, I quickly did a shot of Jager. I felt like it was the only way I could deal with the fact that Eric Cartman caught me being fucked in the ass by some ugly guy. Maybe it was the alcohol- or maybe I was just so desperate to get off again- that made my temporarily forget all my scars. Honestly, I thought he would go for it, scars and all.

Or, maybe it was because of the alcohol I suddenly found him to be really attractive. That is, just physically. In fact, I didn't know who it was when I first opened the door. I saw a guy wearing a white, button-down dress shirt with sleeves rolled up along with black slacks and dress shoes. He was a bit taller than me and had a muscular build; it was obviously that this "stranger" worked out a lot. Although one could tell that he's been distressed, his thick, brown hair was neatly parted on the side and he looked as though he came straight from the office. I think there was something about those big, brown eyes that threw me off because they seemed so familiar but yet so foreign.

"Kahl?" As soon as he said my name I knew.

I suppose he really did look good, though I hate to admit it (even to myself). He looked healthy. It's a strange word to associate with someone who was once so morbidly obese. As a kid, I thought he would have died of health complications by now... but I guess not. Time really does change people. I suppose for people like me, the changes aren't anything to be proud of... but for Eric fucking Cartman it proved to be a good thing.

I let out a shuddery breath and decide to distract myself with the only way I know how -

Sex.

I take a shower, washing thoroughly. Around noon my headache wanes and I decide to call up a guy I know. Naturally, he accepts my invite and says, "Be there soon." Feeling satisfied, I hang up the phone and wait. I don't even know his fucking name. I don't put the names of guys I fuck into my phone. I just make up names for them. This guy is Pornstache.

I'm in my robe again. It's easier this way. No point in getting dressed when I'll just be naked again soon enough. When the doorbell rings, I let the guy in. He's not handsome, but he's better looking than the guy last night. At least this fucker doesn't have a beer gut.

"Hey, 'sup, fuck-buddy?" he asks with a laugh. I force a tight smile in response before ushering him inside my dim apartment and dropping to my knees like an obedient dog. "Hn… yeah, fuck…" he grunts, grabbing a fistful of my hair. I know I give good head. Sex is probably one of the few things I'm confident about. It's my greatest talent.

After a few minutes, he tightens his grip and forces me to my feet. Rough hands, but I don't mind. He tears off my robe and shoves me into the nearest wall. I pre-lube for times like this. Not all guys like to take the time to be careful.

I inch my legs apart and arch my back, sticking my ass out and pressing my cheek against the wall. He grabs my hips and my breath hitches as I feel him enter.

"Fuck..." I hiss out, closing my eyes. I can feel his nails digging into my hip bones. It stings, but I don't mind it. I like the mix of pain and pleasure.

Wet slapping sounds fill the room as he quickens his pace. I start panting and whining like a chick in a fucking porno as he grunts behind me. I can feel his breath at the back of my neck and it gives me goose bumps. He presses himself closer, removing one hand from my hips and reaching for my cock. "Are you a little slut?" he whispers in my ear.

"_Yes_," I moan.

God, I'm disgusting.

Pornstache gets off and, just when I think he's going to pull out and start cuddling, he grabs my hair again, slams me up against the wall, and starts pounding me once more. That's one reason I like him; he can get off more than once and I let him. I didn't make him use a condom this time but that's okay. I really don't care at this point.

When he gets off the third time he starts kissing my neck and wraps his arms around my waist. "Mmm, I wish we could cuddle but I gotta get some work done," I say sweetly.

Pornstache mumbles something and kisses me quickly on the lips before he gathers his clothes and goes to the bathroom to clean up. It doesn't take him long to clean up and get his shit together before I see him to the door. Once he leaves, I walk into the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water. I drink it incredibly fast, as I am always parched after sex. Then I fill it up again. This time I drink the water slower and I think about everything that's happened in the last 12 hours. Sex with some ugly butterface, getting interrupted by Eric Cartman and then trying to have sex with HIM (only to get rejected), and then first thing this morning sex with Pornstache. I finish that glass of water and then I fill it up a third time. This time, I feel something sick in my stomach. I feel a strange sort of anxiety out of disgust and resentment and I know I'm beginning to panic. When I finish with this glass, I hold it for a second, standing there in my kitchen and not knowing what to do with all these thoughts of disgust and panic flooding into my head.

Holding the large glass, I smash it as hard and as fast as I can into the floor. I watch as the shards seem to fly everything and the sound of glass breaking sounds tragic yet beautiful at the same time. Not thinking, I kneel down and I pick up the largest shard I see close to me and I grip it hard in my right hand, which causes my right hard to bleed some. Paying no heed, I place the shard on my left fore-arm and do what feels right.

I press the piece of glass against the skin on my forearm and slide it across, immediately drawing blood. It feels good. Like an orgasm.

I do it again and again and then I raise my wrist, letting the blood swim down the length of my arm. I'm making a mess, but I can clean it up later. I smile to myself, feeling physically satisfied.

"Mm..." I moan.

Drip, drip, drip.

As much as I like blood, I've never been a fan of slasher movies. It's not the same when it's not my own blood.

I don't really have many hobbies. All I do is work, drink and fuck. I guess drinking and fucking are my hobbies, though "Nice Guys" like Eric fucking Cartman would probably look down on me for it. Ha, nice guys. There's no such fucking thing.

You know, I've tried dating "nice guys" before. I would ask mutual friends friend. "Oh yeah," they said, "he's a good guy. You should go for it!" So, of course, I took their advice and got into a serious relationship with said_nice guy_. The last one even lasted a year. Things were great and I have to say that the last one treated me the best.

That is, until one day we got into a fight and he decided to end it because we were "too different" and he "could never understand" me. Now, I didn't know you had to understand someone to love them, but in this case...

Honestly, I think it was just the cutting that he never understood.

I wasn't trying to scare him. I was just trying to be open and honest about myself. But now I've learned that honesty will always bite you in the ass in relationships. That's why I prefer to stay honest and just fuck. No games and not a whole lot of dialogue. It's simpler that way.

If Cartman really IS the nice guy that he presented himself to be last night, I am positive that he would react exactly like the last one if we were to actually talk about my cutting. Sure, he would freak out and be a bit disgusted and confused, but he would ACT as though he accepts me anyways. All men do. They'll say whatever they want to get what they want. Sometimes, they actually mean it in that very moment. But it usually changes the next day. That's the thing about relationships. Why do people put so much work, time and effort in something that is supposed to last and be consistent when everything changes?

People get angry when they don't understand things. Men get upset when they can't help you out and be the knight in shining armor, but I never fucking asked for a knight in shining armor.

"Come to me the next time you feel the urge to hurt yourself," he would say, but I never could and he would get angry. He didn't understand that this wasn't about him. He didn't understand that this wasn't about dying and it definitely wasn't about being saved. I'm not here trying to kill myself. I'm here trying to fucking breathe.

Inevitably, things grew tense. The days leading towards the breakup were quiet and uncomfortable. I knew it was coming, yet I still let it drag on until he was ready to get the words out. I don't know why.

Love always gets thrown in your fucking face, but perhaps, underneath it all, it's something I continue to search for.

When the blood seems to finally be clotting, I get up, go to the bathroom and bandage myself up, as usual. I sit on the cover of the toilet as I contemplate what I should do for the rest of my fucked-up day. I grab my cellphone out of my pocket to look at the time.

11:41.

FUCK!

I really should clean the kitchen and get rid of all that glass, but I know I have to clock in sometime for work. Or, maybe I'll just use some of my paid vacation time and call it a day. Ideally, I wanted to use my PTO for an actual vacation, but what for? Am I going to go to France or Australia by myself? There was a time when I wanted to see all of the world, but what's the point when I'm alone? Who am I going to share my excitement and amusement with?

Paid vacation time it is. Exhausted, I walk into my bedroom and fall face-down on my bed.

There are a great many things I should be doing, but I won't be doing any of it any time soon.

Get dressed. Eat. Maybe go grocery shopping. Plus, I want to buy more liquor. I'm running low on the good shit.

I roll over on my mattress and cautiously stretch my limbs, trying not to break any fresh scabs. I raise my arm again and look at my most recent wound before bringing it towards my mouth and pressing it to my lips. The skin feels uneven and rough. I close my eyes before letting my hand fall by my head.

It still stings, but in a good way.

When I open my eyes I stare at all the swirls and patterns in the ceiling, letting myself space out. I feel groggy. The only time I don't feel groggy is when I'm having sex, but the feeling comes back as soon as I blow my load.

It's fucked. I'm fucked.

Sometimes I wish my parents would come check on me just to make sure I'm at least still alive, but they never do. Sometimes I wonder if they even care at all. I know they're busy with Ike, but they do have another son. They have me and when the apathy subsides, I get so fucking sick of being left behind.

I remember when Ike was sixteen and first started getting into some heavy shit. My parents insisted on sending him to a faith-based rehab center (and by faith-based I really mean Judaism-based) in some shitty town outside Dallas, Texas. Of course, they didn't trust him enough to send him by himself, so my dad went and stayed in a hotel nearby so that he could check on him everyday. Meanwhile, my mom and I stayed in South Park. I remember how worried sick my mom was. In fact, that was all she talked about for the two months that they were gone. "I heard Ike is doing well," or "They're switching up Ike's medication," or "Ike seems to be making a lot of friends there at the rehab center in Texas." When he came back, he was so doped up on medication (he was on at least 12 different ones) that all his words were slurred and he just wanted to sleep all of the time.

"I just don't know, Gerald. Is he SUPPOSED to be speaking like that?" she asked one night, after Ike went to sleep at 7:30 p.m.

"I promise that the doctors there told me that this is normal, Sheila!"

"But all he wants to do is sleep all the time! How could he have learned anything out in Texas if he was barely conscious?!"

Giving in, my parents finally took my brother to see a local psychiatrist who was appalled by how many meds Ike was recently prescribed. She took him off all of them except three. Mothers know best, I suppose.

Somehow, I knew that after a few days of Ike speaking clearly and acting more "normal", it wasn't going to last. I knew that, deep down, he preferred to be doped up.

And that was when he got into pain killers.

It was just a matter of time until all the bills came pouring in from different walk-in clinics. Ike drove all around the metro-Denver area to go doctor-shopping: Strasburg, Aurora, Brighton, Boulder, Fort Collins... And then some. Apparently he always had a back problem. Or arthritis , or tooth pain, or a torn ligament. It wasn't long before my little brother accrued a debt of well over $10,000.

It's scary how easily something like that can happen. It's scary how easily someone can slip and slip and slip until there's hardly anything left of them. That's what happened to Ike. He slipped and he fell pretty fucking far. Maybe that's what's happening to me, too. Honestly, I can't find it in me to care. I wish I could have taken on all of Ike's pain. It's not fair for him to have had to go through so much shit. He's too young to know so much about how shitty the world is. It's not fair. Then again, nothing is.

I've never really been able to protect him. I haven't played the part of the older brother in a long time. Sometimes I miss it, but I don't know how I'd react if I did see Ike. I'd probably just get fucking depressed.

The world sucks and then you die. I guess Ike tried cutting things short and speeding up the process. Sometimes I don't really blame him for it. I don't think it's a selfish action. People who say it is just don't understand that sometimes life gets truly unbearable. Though I understand it, I'd never kill myself. At least, not on purpose. I don't have it in me. I don't have that kind of macabre strength. So, instead, I cut myself up. I guess that's as close as I'll ever get to death, but that's not why I do it.

That's where me and Ike are different. I hurt myself in order to keep myself alive, whereas he hurts himself to try to bring himself closer to death. He has threatened suicide so many times that I've lost count. Honestly, I would've never taken his threats seriously if I didn't walk in on my brother trying to shoot himself that one time. Not that I've told anyone, but I remember one night having a dream where I walked in AS he pulled the trigger. I felt my heart drop into my stomach in my dream, already mentally beating myself up for not getting to his room sooner. Then I felt a wave of relief as I woke up, albeit in tears. What happened that day was traumatizing but I am so glad I walked in there when I did. I had to act strong and collected, as if I could keep a level, clear head under a tragic emergency.

Truth is, growing up Ike and I used to tell each other everything. But as he got into his drugs and as I got into my cutting, we drifted apart. I used to love him so much and, while I still do, it's strange that I have developed a bit of resentment towards him. Ike used to be sweet and he used to care about his friends and family. Not anymore. He is, without a doubt, the MOST self-centered human being that ever walked this planet. He is like the way Cartman used to be but much worse.

Cartman...

I still can't believe how fucking stupid I acted last night. Especially now that he's my neighbor. I wish so bad that I could go back and re-do last night. I would've lied about everything. I would've lied about my promiscuity. I would've said that I love my job and I find it very challenging. I wouldn't have disrobed and he wouldn't have seen my scars. And if he did somehow see my scars, I would've made some bullshit up. I wouldn't have gotten do goddamn drunk and I wouldn't have acted like such a slut, for fuck's suck.

I am fucking disgusted with myself.


	4. Chapter 4

**Eric's POV**

I watched them put my mother in the dirt. The funeral was small. Just like I assumed, she didn't have very many people in her life. She kept a circle of close knit friends and family, but they are small in numbers. I got many sympathetic stares and apologies. I just nodded along at every queue. That's what you're supposed to do, right?

Why the fuck do people apologize when someone croaks? It's not like they fucking did it... but I guess it's the only thing a person can offer at a time like this: Pity. I hate pity.

Now it's all over and all I can think about is the fucking stupid Jew. It shouldn't be like that. I should only be thinking about my mother, but Kyle is pushing his way into my head again. I feel like I'm not only mourning the loss of her, but the loss of Kyle as well. He's really far gone. I still have no idea how or why it happened.

I shake the thoughts away for now. I stop for coffee on my way home. I see that tweaker dipshit in front of the cash register, but he doesn't seem to recognize me. All for the best, I suppose. I order myself something with caffeine and then getting back into my car.

I'm not a fan of coffee. I think it tastes like shit. I don't know why I'm fucking drinking it. I guess I'm just fucking tired, but I can't afford to take a nap. I'm a busy man and I have shit to do. So, for now I'll have to tolerate it. It's keeping me awake, after all.

Feeling a tiny bit rejuvenated due to the coffee, I can't help but remember that I have next-to-no groceries in the fridge. I guess the most logical thing to do after a funeral is go grocery shopping, right? Not to mention that I'm wearing one of my nicest suits. But fuck it. Why should I care? Why should I ever care? It's not like anyone's dumbass opinion means anything in this lame little town anyway.

After throwing all my usuals in the buggy (fruits, vegetables, lactose-free milk, cereal, raw fish to cook later), I remember one last thing. I push my buggy to the chips and drinks isle so that I can get a large bag of Cheesy Poofs. Even though I do work out every day and work with a nutritionist to better my diet, I still have my one weakness. And nothing is ever going to change that.

As I grab my bag of Cheesy Poofs, I see someone I know looking at all the six packs in the aisle across from me.

"Kahl?"

Yeah. It's the fuckin' Jew. He's wearing a pair of plaid pajama pants tucked into some heavy duty winter boots. His brown parka is unzipped and he's wearing sunglasses. I assume he's either hung over or has light sensitivity since he seems to do nothing but sit in a dark apartment all day.

When I say his name, he turns to me and sighs. "Oh," is all he says.

"Oh?" I repeat, somewhat annoyed at the lack of response.

"Hi, Cartman," he adds wearily. He breaks eye contact and continues to rake his gaze across the beer before grabbing the one he wants. He looks contemplative and a split second later he grabs another.

"Christ," I mutter. "Gonna drink all that yourself?"

He glances at me once more. "Wanna share?" he simpers, giving me a sickly sweet smile and I can't help but grimace at him. "What's that look for?" he snorts, taking in my reaction with a look of mild humor. I guess everything is a big joke to him. I guess that's how he stays sane.

"You feeling okay?" I ask. I can't get past his comical appearance.

"I guess," he says, shrugging. Then he cracks a smile. Which, despite his disheveled look, is kind of attractive and it stands out with his sunglasses on. "It's so nice of you to care, though!" he retorts. A part of me thinks he's being genuine and another part of me thinks he's being facetious. I guess I'll never know.

"Yeah, yeah," I dismiss. "What are you doing after stocking up on your booze, Jew?" I ask, remembering that it is Saturday.

The redhead shrugs, still carrying two six packs, one in each hand. "Don't know. Why, you need to speak to me about something? I HAVE kept it down since you last saw me, right?"

I roll my eyes, not wanting to think about his seedy sex life. "No, Jew. Just wondering what you're up to."

He looks me up and down, with his eyebrows furrowed together, thinking. "Ohhh, shit!" he says, as his eyebrows lift up in exclamation. "Was today the funeral?!"

I nod slowly. "Yeah."

"Dammit, Fatass! Why didn't you tell me?! I would've gone!" he says and his tone sounds genuine.

I shrug. "Wanted to get it over with. It's no big deal," I say, even though I know that I'm just trying to act macho and not show any vulnerability. Before Kyle can protest again, I ask, "So, is that all you're buying?"

"You and your questions!" he says, smiling again. "...Yeah, it is."

"Why don't we pay for our shit and go to Tweek Bros?" I suggest. "Looks like you could use some fucking coffee."

And I could use another cup.

So, he accepts and we pay for our groceries. Well, I pay for mine. All Kyle buys is his liquor.

"Did you drive here?" I ask him.

"I don't have a car," he admits. "I walked."

"Can you even drive?" I snort.

He just shrugs and mumbles something indiscriminate. I take that as a no. So, we make our way to where I'm parked and put our things in the trunk. He sits in the passenger's seat as I get i the driver's and we pull out of the parking lot.

At Tweek Bros, Kyle finally removes his sunglasses.

Tweek immediately recognizes Kyle and goes on a jittery rant about thinking he died. "I haven't seen you in forever!"

"Yeah," Kyle says, showing an incredibly forced smile. "Nice to see you."

Tweek's eyes linger towards me direction, silently asking Kyle who the hell I am.

"That's Cartman," Kyle adds, jabbing a thumb at me.

Tweek looks surprised. "Oh," he says. "You're n-not... Um, never mind."

Not fat. Ha.

I buy my second cup of coffee and Kyle orders a half-caff. "I got it," I say when he pulls out his wallet.

"Wow, such a gentleman," he says in a cynical mutter.

Once I pay, we watch as Tweek makes our drinks. When he's finished, we thank him and go find seats in the corner of the cafe against the window.

"Thanks, Fatass," Kyle adds as we sit down.

"I'm not fat, Kahl," I point out. "I'm big boned."

He snorts. "Now maybe."

"Whatever Jew," I retort. "I work out at least 5 times a week now," I say, explaining my weight loss.

"Good for you," he says tersely. "Sooo..." He cups his coffee with both hands. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

I shrug. "Nothing. Guess I just wanted to really talk and catch up with you... Sober."

"Look, I know I acted stupid the other night," he says, lowering his voice. "I was _drunk_. Otherwise, I wouldn't have done have that shit that I did."

"Like get naked in front of me?" I raise a brow.

The Jew's face immediately flushes red and I can see how humiliated he is. "...Yeah," he mutters.

I stretch and drape my left arm over the back of my chair as I cross my right leg over my left, where my ankle is resting on my knee. "I don't know, Kahl..." I start, "they say that people's real feelings come out when they're drunk. Sure you haven't always had the hots for me?" I smile my best eat-shit grin.

"Fuck no!" he yells. He looks around and lowers his voice. "I mean, no. I was drunk and I tend to act out when I'm drunk."

"Whaddya mean, 'act out'?"

"Just... Just that I did that night."

"Like sex with ugly dudes?"

"That's... s-some of it, yeah."

I adjust my posture and prop one elbow on the table, with my fist under my chin. "So, were you exaggerating?"

He raises a brow. "Exaggerating?"

"About all the crazy, wild sex that you have, and how often you have it?"

"Ohh," he breathes abruptly. "No, I wasn't..." He tucks his head, ashamed. "But..." He tries to explain and trails off.

"Hm?"

"But I shouldn't have told you all that," he says, still cupping his coffee.

"Well, you did," I retort with a shrug. "You can't take that back."

"I know," he murmurs.

"You also can't un-suck a dick," I add, "so... you should be more careful from now on. This is a small town full of hicks. You might pick up some weird STI."

"Wouldn't be the first time," he mutters before wincing. He looks like he's mentally berating himself for letting out yet another confession.

I recoil at that, grimacing. "Fucking joke?"

"No joke," he says before sighing. "I guess I shouldn't have said that either."

"What did you have?" I pry.

"Uh, just a couple bacterial ones," he mumbles.

Disgusting. He's had more than one. "You're lucky," I tell him. "That shit can be cured. If it was like... fuckin' herpes or something you would have that shit 'til you die."

"I know," is all he says. He sounds detached, like he's trying to distance himself from the memory or maybe he's just trying to distance himself from the conversation he's having with me.

"Safe sex from now on, yeah?" I suggest, but he just shrugs his shoulders and I can't fucking understand why the hell he won't take care of himself. It makes no sense to me at all. He's still looking down at his coffee and it's starting to frustrate me. "Come on," I urge. "Look at me." He does so, resting an elbow on the table and putting his chin in his palm. "You deserve better," I say. "We often accept what we think we deserve. Why do you think you deserve all that shit?"

He only rolls his eyes at me. Clearly he wants to change the subject. "What are you trying to get at here, Cartman?" he asks, staring me point blank. "Look, it scared the fucking shit out of me the two times I got diagnosed with something, but I took what the doctor prescribed and I don't have anything now, okay?" he says. I feel his tone getting heated. "Besides, I do use protection... Most of the time now anyways," he adds defensively.

I scrunch my face. "If you don't know these guys, then 'most of the time' isn't good enough, Kahl!"

For the first time in our conversation, the Jew lets go of his coffee and leans back in his chair with both arms hanging down. He looks at me with a tired, worn-out expression. "And why do you care, Cartman?" he asks, but it sounds more like a statement. "Are you just taking this opportunity to make me feel like shit so you can feel better about yourself? Like when we were younger, Fatass?"

"I don't want to make you feel worse about yourself than you already do, Kahl," I answer and he makes a confused expression. He waves his right hand in a dismissive manner- as if to blow off what I just said- as he leans forward.

"Well, even if you are being genuine, are you trying to be my knight in shining armor? Someone to save me from myself? Because if you are, trust me, you'll get sick of my shit real soon, just like all the others in my past."

I stare at him, seeing his blatant distrust and his jaded outlook on life written all over him. "No Kahl," I start, "it's just that the Jew that I knew 6 or 7 years ago would've never had sex unless he were in a committed, serious relationship."

Kyle's angry expression softens, and i see the sadness in his eyes as he recalls how he was then, when he had only had sex with only 2 or 3 girls- all of which he dated for a while- and while he still had a tiny ounce of self-respect. I guess the Jew decided to switch teams in the more recent years, which doesn't surprise me.

"Well, I'm sorry about what all you had to see the other night," he says softly. "But to be honest, my sex life really is none of your goddamn business."

I laugh at that. "You made it my business when you got your dick out and then started crying like a fucking baby."

He cringes. "I didn't even fucking cry. Don't say it like that."

"Why?" I snort. "That's pretty much what happened. You're lucky I'm not the kind of guy to take advantage of someone who is drunk and stupid."

"You're such a saint," he simpers cynically.

"No, I'm not," I tell him. "I'm just being a decent fuckin' person. If you're drunk, then it's rape."

He scoffs at that. "You're quite dramatic. It's not like that."

"Yes, it is," I insist. I lean forward and quietly ask, "Now how many times has that happened to you? How many times have you been too drunk to function, forced to let some old hick take what he wanted?"

He smiles, but it's void of emotion. "Like I said, you fat shit, it's none of your motherfucking business what I do with my body or what I let people do to it."

"Right, right," I sigh. "It's yours to use and abuse, huh?"

His jaw tightens. His temper is rising, I can sense it. "I hate you," he bites out.

I give him my most serene smile. "Quite a mature sentiment, Kahl," I say with blatant sarcasm. "You definitely sound like a twenty-six year old man when you talk like that."

"I like sex," he says with finality. "Stop talking down to me for it."

"There's a big difference between liking sex and using it as a form of self-harm," I point out.

His face changes when he hears the words "self-harm". I know he knows that I just now mentioned his other addiction unintentionally.

"Can we PLEASE talk about something else?" he pleads. "Tell me more about your job."

"Oh," I say, trying to change subjects mentally, but it's hard when I clearly see the anguish and shame on the Jew's face and I want to get to the bottom of it. "Well, I still had to work a shitty retail job for the first two years after I graduated because I couldn't find a place that needed a bilingual speaker," I explain. "But I knew I was eventually going to get hired. With the way our country is going, linguists are becoming more and more and demand. So, eventually I was contacted by a German-based computer company, and they let me talk to our headquarters a lot and act like a liaison between us and them."

"That's really neat," the Jew says as I see his eyes peak with interest. He can try to cover it up with his new, dark lifestyle, but Kyle has -and always will be- a fucking nerd.

"Yeah, it's been pretty kick-ass," I chuckle.

"Have you gone to Germany yet?" he asks.

"Yep. Last year the company sent me for a month for training on some new admin work. Also, they thought it would be good if I got to finally meet the people I've been talking to for so long," I smile. "It was pretty fucking awesome, Kahl!"

I see a soft smile spread on the redhead's face. "Wow. That's really cool, Cartman." He takes a sip of his coffee. "To be honest I haven't been outside of the country yet. Growing up, my parents always wanted to take a vacation to Israel, but I know that's not going to happen now..."

I raise an eyebrow. "Why not?" The Jew shrugs in response and takes another sip of his coffee. "How are your parents, by the way?"

"They're good," he responds quickly.

"And Ike, how is he? Isn't he in college now?" I laugh at how absurd that sounds. "Christ, I feel so fucking old!"

I feel a strange awkward silence when the Jew doesn't respond. "He's fine," he finally says harshly.

I can easily sense that he's lying. "Chill," I tell him, somewhat annoyed at the sudden anger. He's up and down a lot.

Kyle lets out a breath. "I don't want to talk about him." There is a mix of emotions evident in his tone and I don't know what to do with any of them.

"Ike?" I pry.

Kyle closes his eyes. "Don't say his name."

I raise an eyebrow at that. "Why the hell not?"

"Because I said so," is all he replies with.

"Not gonna cut it," I tell him. "Try again."

"No," he says.

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No!" he snaps loudly, drawing the attention of some nearby strangers. "Fucking hell, no!"

A pause. "Kahl, what happened?" I ask.

Kyle simply shakes his head, like it's something he can't bear to even think about. Clearly it's a sensitive subject. I don't understand why. "There's just a lot of stuff I don't want to go into about Ike," he says. "Stuff that, when me and you went to school together, my parents swore me into secrecy and made me promise that I would never tell any of my friends."

"So whatever it is with Ike, it's been going on for a while?" I ask softly.

The Jew nods, staring blankly at the table. "Yes," he almost whispers.

I wrack my mind trying to think about when was the last time I saw Kyle's little brother. Christ, I can't remember! Maybe when we were still in high school and Ike was in junior high? But, if I remember clearly, that was when he started acting weird. I remember one night inviting the usual crew- me, Kenny, Butters, Stan, and Kyle- to go see this new Terrance and Phillip movie. Just like old times, when I invited Kyle, I told him that Ike was more than welcome to come. Fuck, growing up, sometimes I wish that I could've hung out with Ike as opposed to his ginger brother. He was a lot more laid-back and less self-righteous than Kyle was back then. But, Kyle was always in my classes back then, and Stan and Kenny insisted on him being part of our group. Besides, hanging out with Ike without Kyle would've just felt weird, I guess.

But what I do remember about that day was when Kyle came to the theater sans Ike.

"Where's Ike?" I whispered loudly in the theater, right before I put more popcorn in my mouth.

"He didn't want to come," he whispered back.

"What?!" I asked, confused.

"SHHH!" Stan rudely interrupted me. "We're in a theater you guys!"

"Why?" I whispered more quietly.

"I don't know," Kyle answered. And that was that.

At that time I dismissed it, remembering that Ike was going through puberty so he was probably just too cool to hang out with his brother and his friends. But now I'm wondering if it was something more serious.

"Kahl," I start. "We're not in our early 20's anymore, and you no longer live with your parents," I explain. "If you told me what is going on with Ike, I swear on my mother's grave it would stay between you and me," I promise.

Suddenly, Kyle slumps forward with his forehead in his hands. He lets out a string of deep, heaving breaths. When I think he's about to have a panic attack or some kind of fit, he sits up straight. His eyes are glazed over and he looks like he's about to lose his fucking mind. It's unsettling to see. He lets out another breath, quieter this time, and then he slumps forward again. Wringing his hands through his hair, he starts to shake his head.

I simply stare. There's a knot in my gut, something telling me that whatever secret Kyle was forced to keep... It's something really fucking bad. Did Ike kill someone?

"Kahl..." I say slowly.

"Shut up," he whispers sharply. He sits up and leans back against his seat. He looks contemplative, like he wants to tell me but he's unsure if he should. He also looks like he's in fucking agony. "I can't say it," he murmurs mechanically after a few more minutes pass. "I've never said it. I don't think I'm able to."

I stare at him piteously. "Maybe I could help?" I offer.

He laughs at that and it's the bitterest sound I've ever heard. "You can't," he says surely. "No one can. He's had countless doctors throughout the years and nothing has helped."

I move my coffee more to the right so that I can face Kyle straight. "What is it about Ike that you are supposed to keep a secret?" I ask gingerly.

"He's... He's a mess," he says, looking at me straight. "Ike has been struggling with drugs for a long, long time. He's supposed to be clean now, but I don't know if I believe that."

"I'm really sorry to hear that, Kyle," I pronounce his name correctly out of his respect. I know my mom struggled with drugs on and off too, and it scared the shit out of me. Growing up I cried myself to sleep at night, knowing that I had to go to school the next day and I wouldn't be there to protect her. It was the most amazing feeling of relief when she went into NA and decided to not only get clean but STAY clean. I'm so happy that- although her death was tragic- at least she died with dignity, being 5 years clean and sober.

Kyle shrugged. "It's whatever," he says, playing with my straw wrapper. "But to answer your question, my little brother really isn't up to anything. He never went to college. He sleeps most of the day and watches TV at night. Sometimes he'll get a job but he'll only be able to keep it for a couple of months, if that. Actually, he stole from his last job." And with that the Jew chuckles in a cynical manner. Then he shakes his head and sighs. "My point is, he's really, really fucked up, Cartman."

"All right," is all I respond with. "Fair enough."

For now, I decide to leave it. I can tell Kyle isn't going to relent so easy and tell me what's really going on. I guess it's not really my business, but I'm a pretty fucking nosy guy. I like to know everything about everyone. I've always been that way, ever since I was a kid. The only thing that has changed is what I do with the information I learn about people. These days, blackmail isn't at the forefront of my mind.

Kyle looks visibly relieved when I relent and he doesn't hesitate to change the subject quickly. "So, do you have any hobbies?"

I eye him critically and he seems to sense it, so he glances away. "Well," I start, "I don't have much time for hobbies these days. I mostly let my work fill up my schedule since I enjoy it."

"That's good," he says, staring down into his cup some more.

"Anything interesting in there?" I ask him with a smile.

He sneers at me. "Shut up," he mutters.

"What about you?" I ask as I cross my legs again.

"What about me?"

I clear my throat. "Your hobbies, I mean."

He slowly raises an eyebrow, as if the words somehow turned foreign. "Hobbies...?"

"Yah know, what you do for fun, Jew."

"Oh," he says, as if registering the thought. "I mean, besides sex? I like trying new beers, I guess..."

I roll my eyes. "No, Jew. What do you like to do that doesn't involve sex or alcohol?"

Kyle stays silence, thinking for what feels like a very long fucking minute. "Ummm," he starts. "Well, I do like to watch movies sometimes,"

I blink, in almost disbelief. "Kahl."

"Yes?"

"What the FUCK do you do for fun?" I ask, kinda pissed off.

"I just TOLD you, Fatass!"

"Ay! I'm not fat anymore, Jew!"

"S-sorry," he says, "it's just out of habit, I guess."

I roll my eyes again and urge him, "So...?"

He shrugs and wrinkles his nose. "I don't have any, I guess. I don't do much. I just work and drink and fuck."

"And cut yourself up," I add in a mutter.

He frowns at that. "Shut up," he whispers.

I tilt my head to the side and continue to stare at him. I'll never fuckin' understand why someone would go and do a thing like that. Your body gives you life and all that gay shit. It works to keep you moving and breathing. It works fuckin' hard. Is that how Kyle repays his body? I don't fuckin' get it.

"Stop staring at me like that," he mumbles, glancing away. Clearly he has a hard time maintaining eye contact with people.

"You need to have fun, Kahl."

The Jew blinks. "Excuse me?"

I clear my throat. "You heard me. You need to have some goddamn fun, Kahl!"

My redheaded "friend" gives me a look as though I have lost my goddamn mind.

"Let's go do something, Jew." I say, kinda surprised that I just announced that myself.

"What do you have in mind, Cartman?"

I shrug, irritated. "I don't know. Let's go fucking ice skating!"

He laughs at my suggestion. "You SURE you aren't gay, Cartman?"

I scoff. Of course, I know I'm bi, but I'm not anywhere near ready to tell anyone else that yet. But honestly, I just want to distract the Jew. If he's with me, then at least he's not fucking of hurting himself.

"Yes, Jew, I'm sure," I answer reassuringly. "So are we going fucking ice skating or not?"

He gives me a weary smile and sighs. "Sure, let's go fuckin' ice skating."

.

.

After finishing our drinks we get back into my car, making our way to the rink. I'd say let's go to the pond, but neither of us have ice skates. The drive isn't long, since most things in South Park are close together.

Inside, I rent us both a pair of skates and we enter the rink. I watch as Kyle slips out of his boots and puts on the pair of skates, tucking his pajama pants into them. He looks pretty fuckin' silly, but I won't say it out loud.

"I haven't been skating since I was ten," he confesses when we're both ready.

"Shit, for real?" I snort.

"For real," he says. He huddles against the wall, grabbing onto the rail. "Why, do you ice skate often?" he asks, with a bit of sarcasm in his tone.

"Did it in college, and one time after that," I answer, staying on Kyle's left side while I patently skate slow.

"Really?" he asks. "So, it's a hobby of yours?"

I shrug. "Not really. The one time in college was when me and some buddies were drunk. And the time after college..." I trail off, suddenly feeling awkward. "I was on a date," I finish, trying to sound nonchalant.

The Jew raises an eyebrow. "A date?"

I throw a glare of sarcasm his way. "Yes, Kike, a date."

The redhead is still holding on to the rail and inching his way along the ice, but his gaze doesn't move from my face. In fact, I can see from my peripheral view that he looks almost amused.

"Whose idea was it? Yours or the girl's?" he chuckles. "It HAD to be the girl's. There's no way someone as self-centered and thoughtless as you came up with that."

"Actually, it WAS my idea, you dirty Jew!" I give him my best "eat-shit" look.

He glances from the rail- making sure he's holing on still- and looks back at me, eyes widening. "No way!" He stops. "Eric Cartman being a gentleman?!" His chuckles get louder and turn into laughter.

"Why's that so fucking hard to believe, KAHL?!" I spit his name as I feel my face turn red from embarrassment. I decide to not wait on his lame ass and start picking up my speed, skating to get away from the Jew.

I can hear him behind me, still laughing. It makes me want to slap him, but I won't.

"Okay, sorry, sorry," he apologizes, sounding like he's still stifling snickers. He hobbles alongside me and we're quiet again.

"I can be a gentleman," I say out of the blue.

"Hm," he muses, sounding like he's only partially convinced. "I suppose."

"I was a gentleman the other night when you were begging for my dick," I point out. "I chose NOT to take advantage of your drunken desperation."

He sneers at that and I can't help but smirk. It's my turn to have a laugh. "Just stop bringing it up," he mutters.

I ignore him and it's silent again.

To be honest, I like skating (gay as that makes me). I like the feeling of cold air in my face. I guess it always reminds me of being home, even when I am far away. Skating was a daily thing when we were kids. When we all grew up and grew away, it stopped being something we did. Other things got in the way.

But for now, it's nice to just be in the moment and do something stupid and fun for no reason.

...It's been awhile since I've actually been in the moment.

"Hey, hey! Look Cartman!"

I turn my head to see the Jew is now skating (and by skating I mean taking baby-steps) on his own, not holding onto the rail anymore.

"Look at you! You're a real man now, Kahl!" I say smiling.

"Fuck you," he retorts, but he doesn't stay anger for long as he is too busy balancing himself. He stares down at his feet and has both of his arms out stretched on either side, as if keeping his arms stretched out will prevent him from falling. I can't help but laugh.

"You look so fucking stupid right now, Kike." I laugh again.

"I said, fuck off!" The redhead tries to look angry, but he's suppressing laughter himself since he knows he looks ridiculous. It's actually kinda endearing.

"Shall we try to skate around the rink, Kahl?" I ask, pushing him a little. "The bird has to leave the nest sometime."

He lets out a long, whiny moan and his eyebrows draw together as though he's unsure. "I'm going to fall on my ass."

"I'll be right next to you," I remind him, moving out into the rink.

He awkwardly hobbles and half-skates towards me. He's shaky.

"I can't believe you never learned to fucking skate," I say.

"Sh," he hushes me, concentrating on his movements. He bites his lower lip and soon enough, he's at my side.

"Yah did it," I applaud in a somewhat patronizing matter. He wrinkles his nose at me and promptly falls backwards with a shriek. I point and laugh. "That was awesome!"

"Asshole!" he snaps from the ground. "You're supposed to catch me!"

"Oh, so NOW you want me to be your knight in shining armor!" I retort.

The Jew just raises an eyebrow, as if I'm speaking some foreign language.

"You said that to me earlier, remember Kahl?" I ask.

"Look, can we forget about everything and can you just help me to fucking skate?" he asks, raising his right hand up, expecting me to help get him back to his feet.

Without thinking about it I take his hand with my right hand, use my left hand to get a better grip of his arm, and firmly plant my skates in the ground so that I can get him up off his ass. During this awkward transition the redhead makes numerous grunting noises in the way that one would think he was lifting weights. Once he's on his feet again, he's breathing much heavier than I am.

"Now, shall we try this again, Jew?" I ask while he pants heavily. It's pretty obvious that he never works out at all.

"S-sure," he says, trying to sound more confident than I know that he's feeling.

Finally, the Jew gets the hang of it after we go around the rink the second time. He's somewhat able to keep up with my speed and he doesn't fall, although he comes close a couple times. One time when he comes close, he goes into that weird, awkward position where he's trying to balance himself with his arms stretched out. I catch the redhead laughing at himself and -for once- not seeming to care that I'm seeing him act silly. It makes me happy and sad at the same time. It makes me happy because the Jew deserves to be happy (and besides, he does have a GREAT smile with perfect teeth), but it makes me sad because something tells me that the Jew rarely laughs these days.

He probably doesn't feel like he has many reasons to laugh and smile. I guess he doesn't. At least, going by what I know it seems like he doesn't. Still, it's nice to see.

Wow, I sound gay.

"What?" he asks, glancing at me.

"Nothing," I insist.

He shrugs it off, not bothering to pry. I can't help but notice all the little things. When we were kids, he would have pried until I relented. He was annoying like that. It's different now. Everything is. I guess age does that to a person, but it's more than that. It's all the shit. I guess it would have been stupid to expect him to have stayed the same forever.

Still, I miss that innocent and pure Kyle that stood for justice. I guess he's long gone now.

"Well Jew, should we call it a night?" I ask, noticing how my legs are starting to feel sore.

"I was thinking the same thing," he says, nodding.

After we exchange our skates for our shoes we ride back to our apartments. We tiredly climb up the stairs together and, at the top of the stairs, we look at each other, knowing that it was time to go our separate ways. For tonight, at least.

"Well Cartman, what we did tonight was sort-of weird," the Jew says, contorting his face into an awkward smirk. "But I had fun. Thanks."

I nod. "You're welcome Kahl," I respond.

Then we hug and, as awkward as it is, I can feel myself exhaling and feeling so relieved at the same time. THIS is what FEELS right.

"'Night, Jew."

"G'night, Fatass."


	5. Chapter 5

**Kyle's POV**

When I heard the alarm go off, I really did _not_ want to get out of bed.

Of course, I never want to get out of bed, but there was something about how I felt this morning that made me want to linger more than usual. Even though I just woke up, my legs still felt sore from last night. I stretched my arms out as I thought about the absurdity of last night with Cartman. Who would have ever thought that the two of us- both at 26 years of age- would go fucking ICE skating?! But... It was kinda fun. Not that I would ever tell anyone that of course. In all seriousness, it felt good to do something different for once.

Maybe that's what I've always liked the most about Cartman growing up. Unless we were eating- or watching the TV show that HE wanted to watch, or playing the video games that HE wanted to play- it was always Fatass being the protagonist and coming up with new, outlandish shit to do (albeit immoral shit as well). Whether he was wrong or selfish, Cartman always was creative and kept things interesting. So far, it seems that he is still that way today.

Everything about yesterday was refreshing, but I know it was just a one time thing. Now things will go back to normal. I'll sleep around and drink and screw myself over and then bury myself in work while pretending I'm fine. It's a pretty vicious cycle, but what can I say? I'm trapped. Yeah, I'll admit it. I'm trapped. That's not going to change.

I take a long shower and jack off under the hot water. I close my eyes and start fantasizing. At first it's a faceless stranger, but then it turns into Cartman. I open my eyes and feel my brows draw together.

No.

I don't want to go there. I don't want a relationship - especially not with Eric Cartman.

But I can't help but think about how it felt when we hugged briefly last night. He's slightly taller than me and it seems like he is very much all muscle. I could feel it in his strong arms and I could feel the tone and definition, even though he had a thick sweater on.

But I've been with plenty of buff guys with hot bodies. Rarely do I find a guy with a body like that AND a handsome face. It's strange, it's the same damn face that I grew up with, but different. His jaws are strong, his thick eyebrows frame his big brown eyes, his turned up nose, and that devlish, up-to-no-good smile...

I fucking love his smile.

No... It's Cartman! I'm just SURE he would want me to have feelings for him, so that he could turn around, throw it back in my face (because he's not gay), and show me how pathetic I am. Then he would start preaching to me about some bullshit.

Besides, I know how every "relationship" ends. At least, I know how they end with ME.

I have no luck when it comes to romance. I'm high maintenance. I'm unmanageable. People grow sick and tired of me.

Being in a relationship takes a lot out of me. I feel like, in the start, I always feel the need to keep a happy mask on and pretend I'm different than I am. When the mask slips off and the real me shows, then it all turns to shit because no one wants to be with a guy like me. I don't blame them. I wouldn't want to be with me, either. I'm a handful. I need to be watched. I'm a slut. Sometimes I worry I'll just end up cheating on a guy. It hasn't happened yet, but it could. I play around a lot, though I don't necessarily like it. I can't really help it. I guess that sounds fucked up on my behalf.

Sometimes I want to cry for help, but I never do. Then again, maybe every little thing I do is a silent cry for help.

I don't think I want a relationship. No... That's a lie. That's just a lie that I've been telling myself for years. Truth is, I really, REALLY want a relationship and to love someone and to be loved for the rest of my life, but I know that's never going to happen. You can only fall in "love" and get dumped so many times before you give up on it completely. All men really want is sex anyways, right? So that's all I should want as well. Being single and fucking isn't bad.

I wonder if Cartman has ever been in love...?

Wait, what am I thinking?! Who cares if he has! Obviously he's single now, but apparently he's a real charmer when he goes on a date. At least that's what I gathered from yesterday. Speaking of yesterday, I wonder what he's up to today? Aw shit! I still don't have his number! ... Should I just go over and knock on his door?

No, no! Definitely not. I don't want to get too clingy. That just chases guys away. No man wants to be tied down, right? Especially not by someone as high maintenance as me...

Okay, I need to stop thinking.

The real question is... Why do I care? Do I have a stupid, little crush or something? How humiliating is this? I guess there's no denying it now. Well, I'll keep it to myself. I can't give him something new to rub in my face. He'd probably take a little too much pleasure in this. I don't want to give him another reason to laugh at me and be smug.

Er... Maybe I should go knock on his door? What do I have to lose?

Next thing I know, I'm grabbing my phone and my keys and heading outside.

_Knock, knock, knock._

I stand there, feeling awkward as I wait. Then, I hear the door slowly crack open.

"...Kahl?" the brunet says, with utter confusion written all over his face.

"H-hey Fatass," I greet, doing my best to maintain my cool. Not working.

With his right hand still on the door knob, Cartman props his left hand on the side of the door. "Can I help you, Jew?" he asks, with one eyebrow raised very high on his forehead.

"Umm, about last night..." I start.

Wait... That doesn't sound right at all! Then I feel my face turn red. SHIT!

"Ohh, umm," I stutter, and I must look really stupid because Cartman's perplexed expression relaxes as he chuckles and his expression now looks more amused than anything. "I mean, it was fun," I cough. God, I'm such a dumb fuck.

"Yes it was, Kahl," the linguist replies, still chuckling.

"And, uhh, we sh-should do it again, sometime," I manage to stammer. God, I feel as awkward now as I did when I had a crush on Rebecca Cotswolds. I guess I'm not doing a great job of hiding anything...

"You want to ice skate again, Kahl?" he asks. Everytime he says my name I feel like he does it to get a rise out of me. Growing up, he always said my name more than anyone else's and I figured it was out of spite. I wonder if that's why he still says it so much today.

"N-not necessarily ice skating Cartman," I respond. "But... Ya know. Hang out."

I take a deep, quiet breath and force myself to chill out. It's only Cartman. It's just the fat ass, no one to be scared of or intimidated by. Shit.

"Yeah, that'd be cool," he agrees with a slight smirk. He looks a bit smug, which is the exact reason I didn't want to come over here. He probably knows I want his dick in my ass for real. After a pause he asks, "So, when are you free?"

"Um," I start. "Whenever, I guess. I kind of make my own hours."

"Me, too," he says. "At the moment, at least."

"So, we should do something tonight maybe?" I suggest.

He nods. "Yeah, a'ight. That sounds good. We should get fried chicken. I've been craving KFC."

I sigh internally. So not the date I had in mind. Nonetheless I force a smile and say, "Sure, whatever you want."

Cartman raised an eyebrow, as if he could sense my disappointment.

"I'm sorry Kahl," he says, "would you like somewhere more romantic than KFC? Bennigan's, perhaps?"

I feel my face turn beet-red, but I shrug and do my best to play it cool. "Nah. KFC is fine. That place has always been your favorite, anyways."

"We'll go to Bennigan's," he says in a determined voice.

"No, we'll go to KFC," I retort definitely.

"Gahdammit, Kahl!" he yells. "You've never been a good liar and even after all these years you STILL suck at it. Your face totally dropped when I mentioned KFC, so we're going to fucking Bennigan's, gahdammit!"

I feel my eyes widen, impressed. "O-okay," I say. "Sure. Beninigan's it is."

He gives me a smirk. Clearly he's satisfied that I relented.

You win this round, Eric Cartman.

.

.

So, now here we are. At Bennigan's.

It's a little past 7PM when we're seated in the pub-styled restaurant. My eyes immediately drift to the liquor menu, much to Cartman's chagrin.

"Kahl," he says in a warning tone of voice.

"Don't worry," I tell him, carelessly sighing.

It sounds bad, but I get mad when people worry about me. However, I also get mad when they don't. It's a lose-lose situation for me and everyone I'm around.

So, even though I'm thinking about buying a drink, maybe I shouldn't. Not tonight. It'll probably impress him if I show some self-restraint... For once.

Before we could have any small talk, the waitress comes back and starts filling our water glasses. She asks if she could start us off with anything to drink.

"Coke for me," Cartman says. Then all eyes are on me.

"Umm, water is fine, t-thanks," I say.

"Very good," the young waitress- probably in her early 20's- pipes cheerfully and then she adds, "Can I get you all started with any appetizers?"

"Yes, we'll start off with the calamari, please," the brunet orders, almost immediately after she's finished asking the question.

"You like calamari?" I ask after she leaves, somewhat surprised.

"Fuck yeah I do," he answers.

Then I can't help but notice an awkward silence.

"Ummm..." I start.

"Yes Jew?"

"Weren't you supposed to ask me something...?"

Cartman makes a puzzled expression as he takes a sip of his water. "Ask you something? Like what?"

I shrug. "I dunno... Maybe, something like, 'Do YOU like calamari? Yah know, just to make conversation."

Right after I say that I can't be feel very self-conscious. Am I acting weird? Am I being too sensitive? No wonder Cartman is sitting across from me, giving me a blank expression.

"Kahl, let's get one thing straight," he starts. "I really don't care if you like calamari or not. I bought it for me."

I stare at him, almost crestfallen.

"Jesus Christ, Jew!" he laughs. "I'm just fucking joking. I'll share the calamari if you want," and he immediately tears off the end of his straw and puts the straw to his lips to blow the paper wrapper on me. Geez! He's like a fucking kid!

I puff up my cheeks, trying not to blow up at him. He's making me want to order a fuckin' drink… but, still, I won't.

He just laughs at me. "You look like one of those really dumb looking fishes," he says. "What the fuck are they called?"

And here i was expecting him to be charming! He was like that when we went skating... but I guess I can't have everything as I want it. Maybe I'm the one acting like a kid.

"Puffer fish," I say tartly.

"Yeah, that!" he exclaims before laughing some more.

I grind my teeth and before I can help it, I kick him under the table.

"Ow!" he hisses.

"I don't like when people laugh at me," I tell him. "So, _stop_."

"Fine, fuck," he growls. "Hell, Kahl. You're not supposed to beat up your date."

"Suck me," I mutter lewdly.

"Gladly," he responds, smirking.

Yeah, I'm probably overreacting. I close my eyes and take a deep, calm breath before opening them again. "I'm sorry," I say.

"Uh, it's cool," he insists with a shrug. "It felt like we were kids again for a second there, heh..."

I smile bitterly at that, wishing it were true. I'd give anything to go back to the past. There are so many things I wish I could undo. There are so many things I wish I could have stopped from happening. There are so many shit things I can't stop thinking about.

Next thing I know, I feel something small and wet hit my face. I move my head to face Cartman and I see that he is now using his straw to launch out small, wet, wadded ripped parts of his napkin at me, chuckling like it's the most amusing thing ever.

"For fuck's sake, Cartman!" I snap.

"Du calme, Kahl," he says. "I was just trying to get you out of brooding, pensive state,"

"I wasn't fucking brooding!" I yell. I feel my face get heated as I know I am probably being too loud. "I wasn't brooding," I say again, more calmly.

"What were ya thinkin' about, Jew?"

I shrug. "Just... stuff. Yah know, life."

"So fuckin' gheyy Kahl," the brunet retorts.

"Well I AM gay, Cartman!" I state with no shame. "And I don't care if you can't understand it, but I am."

Then it looks like my childhood friend is adjusting how he is sitting. He clears his throat.

"Well, actually, Kahl..."

"What?" I ask tersely. I sound short-tempered, even though I don't mean to come off that way.

A pause.

"You know what, never mind," he says.

I gape at him. "Okay, no. You can't leave me hanging like that, it isn't fair!"

"Don't gimme your money making mouth," he taunts.

"I'm not a prostitute!" I nearly shriek, grabbing the attention of some people from nearby tables. I push my face into my hands and take a breath.

Cartman starts chortling again. "This is fun, huh?" he asks, trying visibly to stifle a smug smile. "Just like old times."

"A little too much like old times," I respond tightly.

Why did I want to go on this date again? Jesus Christ. Cartman has always been able to pull out this kind of reaction from me. He does it so damn easily and I fall into his trap every fucking time. I don't know why. I know what he's doing, but I still can't help but give him the exact reaction he's probing for.

"You know what, Fatass?" I start clearly. "Fine. If you don't want to tell me, you don't have to tell me."

"Gahdammit Kahl, fine!" he says. "I'll fucking tell you, Jew!"

I listen attentively as he puts both elbows up on the table, crosses his arms tightly, and leans forward, indicating that he wants me to do the same. I learn forward and I look at a random spot on the table as I wait to hear what he has to say.

"Actually Kahl," he says in a whisper, "I DO understand. I'm not 100% straight myself,"

Wait. Am I hearing this right?

I quickly turn my face to look at him and he won't look me in the eyes. Instead, he leans up and adds in a low voice, "Not that I'm a fucking fag or anything. I've banged too many chicks to be a fag."

I laugh and it somehow turns into an awkward cough, knowing that his last part was another lame exaggeration of his.

Somehow, I'm not surprised. "I always knew your blatant homophobia was just a way to cover up how much you liked dick," I say to him, recalling how damn crude he was when we were kids. I might be fibbing a bit. I didn't know, but the entire thing makes so much damn sense.

"Watch it," he warns. "Don't make me regret telling you this."

I smile sweetly at him and then say, "You're right. I was being rude. I'm sorry."

His eyes narrow. "You're being facetious, aren't you?"

"A little bit," I admit with laughter.

He reaches across the table and gives me a light punch in the shoulder.

Damn. So maybe this weird little crush of mine won't be in vain after all. Not that I want to date him or make this a long term thing, but if the mood strikes I'd let him pound me. Maybe I just need to get it out. Then the sexual tension will dissolve.

"So, you're bi?"

My childhood friend fidgets a little, almost shrugging, and then nods his head. "More or less, yeah. Sounds weird when you say it though, Kahl."

I chuckle at how much he likes to say- and mispronounce- my name.

"Why's it sound weird? It's something newer for you too, I suppose?"

Cartman takes a sip of his water. "The last few years. It's more complicated with guys though,"

I lift a brow. "How so?"

"Well, I definitely like the sex just as much as I like it with women," he starts. "But the dating part... In some ways, that's actually more awkward and nerve-wracking then the sex."

I feel like I totally get what he's saying but I want to play stupid, so that I can get him to elaborate.

"Dating men is more awkward then having sex with men?" I ask, doing my best to wear my most perplexed expression.

"Don't gimme that eat-shit look Kahl," he says. "You know exactly what I'm talking about."

Shit! Busted!

Then, luckily for me, our waitress comes with Cartman's coke and calamari, levitating the tension between us.

"Are we ready to order?" she asks.

"Yeah!" Cartman says. "I'll have the Big Irish with a side of soup."

"Jesus," I mutter.

"Ay, I'm hungry!" he defends himself.

"Go big or go home!" the waitress pipes in, eliciting a nod of approval from Cartman. She chuckles and then looks at me, asking, "And for you?"

"Uhh, soup and salad," I say.

"Garden or caesar?"

"Garden."

With a nod, she smiles sweetly at Cartman and says, "Be back with your order shortly."

When she's gone, I mirror the smile. "She seems to like you."

"Jealous?" he asks with a snort before asking, "Why the fuck did you order a fucking salad? Boring."

"My appetite is lacking," I confess.

"Hm," he grunts.

I can't help but wonder if this is why he's being such a tool tonight. He feels uncomfortable. He feels uncomfortable because he's on a date with me. A man.

"So, as I was saying Kahl," my "date" says in a lower voice. "You knew EXACTLY what I was talking about earlier when I said that dating is more awkward then sex..." His eyes traveled to the right. "With men," he adds quickly and then coughs.

I shake my head. "No, I really don't."

His eyebrows narrow. "Yes you do, Kahl!"

"No I don't." I say, still trying to fake it the best I can.

"Bullshit!" he raises his voice. "You have sex all the time with random guys, and not ONCE since I've been back in town have you really talked about any past relationships, exes... Fuck, you haven't mentioned a single date that you've been on before."

I drift my gaze over to the right, not really sure what I'm looking at.

Fuck. He IS right.

I feel Cartman's big brown eyes staring at me and I finally meet his eyes with mine. I hate it. I hate how intensely he's looking at me. I hate how he has a pensive, interrogative and a slightly sad expression on his face. I hate how I feel like he can see right through me. But most of all, I hate how vulnerable I feel. I feel immensely nervous and unsettled, like I felt the first time I ever got naked in front of a girl when I was a teenager. But this time, I feel like this is the first time someone is seeing my naked soul.

I hate it.

"Kahl," Cartman breaks the awkward silence, maybe because he can sense my discomfort. "Don't tell me that you've known that you're gay for a while but you never actually had a boyfriend," he says sarcastically.

"Of course I have," I'm surprised at how weak my voice sounds.

He blinks. "Then why don't you have one now?"

I shrug. "It's pointless."

"What?"

"I said _it's pointless_!" I repeat and I can feel some sort of weird emotion emerging. "Of course I've had boyfriends, Cartman. I've been in love. Thought a time or two that I found 'the one'. But when it doesn't work out- and it never does- you realize it's not even worth the chance."

I close my mouth, pressing my lips together firmly. I feel like I might start fucking crying, but I don't want to. I don't want to keep losing it in front of him. I stare at him, urging my vision to stay clear even though I literally feel tears burning in the corners of my eyes.

"Well, shit," he deadpans.

"Yeah," I mutter before repeating him, "Shit."

"That's just the thing, though, isn't it, Kahl?" he asks before continuing, "You always feel like that until you do find the one. Then it stops."

I snort back a grim sounding laugh. "Yeah, right," I murmur. "Look, I'm not exactly normal, especially not when it comes to the spectrum of emotions. I am high maintenance. I complain a lot. I demand a lot. I'm a shitty boyfriend. One second I have you up on a pedestal, the next you're less than the gum at the bottom of my feet. I get moody and volatile. I can't really control it. People get sick of it. They get sick of me and my habits. I have a hard time saying exactly what I want, but when people don't understand I spite them for it."

Cartman listens intently and when I'm finished he gives a long nod, musing with, "Hm..."

"What?" I nearly snap.

"Why do you think you're like that?" he asks.

I sneer at him. "I don't fucking know. I just am. People leave when things get hard. People don't want to stick around when I'm not the easy-going horny guy they got used to. It's like they realize that isn't what they signed up for and they don't want to deal with me."

"Then they're not worth it," Cartman says simply. "When you find a guy that is worth it, he'll think you're worth it, too. He'll stay."

I let out a scoff. I'd like that, but it seems too good to be true.

"You think I'm just bullshitting, dontcha Kahl?"

I suddenly realize that I am leaning back up against my booth with my arms crossed. Reluctantly, I slowly nod my head.

"Well," he starts, "You know I'm not one to make shit up when I'm serious."

Then, as if the timing couldn't be better, the waitress brings the food. She puts Cartman's large platter in front of him and then places the soup and salad in front of me. She smiles at both of us- especially Cartman- and leaves.

"You're going to eat all that?" I ask, poking fun at my "date".

"Damn right I will," the brunet answers.

"But go ahead, continue." I say, gesturing with my hand.

"Continue what?" he asks with his mouth full.

"You say you don't lie," I say as I lean over my food and lock eyes with him. "But how would you know about all this if you yourself haven't found 'the one'? Shouldn't you be jaded, cynical, and bitter, just like me?"

"I guess I'm just trying to be optimistic," he says. "You're so fucking negative. You're negative enough for the both of us."

I laugh loudly, unable to help myself. The thought of Cartman as a positive person is just weird. I wouldn't call him negative, but he's too much of a douche to be a positive person. The entire idea is foreign and strange.

"What?" he snaps at me.

"You," I say, trying to sober myself.

He gives me a dull stare before digging into his dinner.

I guess that's that, but somehow I don't think I got the entire answer.

I stare down at my meal, picking up my fork and moving it through the salad.

"Eat," Cartman urges. "Don't just play with it."

"I'm not," I insist before taking a bite. Once I swallow I look at him and say, "See? Happy?"

"Ecstatic," he responds.

"Meh," I say while I roll my eyes.

"Okay, Kahl, tell me what's wrong," Cartman says as he puts down his fork for a second (probably not for long).

"Do you really think I'm negative?" My question slips because I actually contemplated whether I wanted to ask him that or not. Now I sound like an overly self-conscious little bitch.

Slowly, Cartman picks his fork back up. "Well, yeah," he answers honestly. He takes another bite and- while chewing with his mouth full- adds "but I know that's not really you."

"What do you mean by that?" I ask.

The brunet shrugs, taking another bite. "I just know that's not really you, Kahl. And the only real reason I know that is because I remember how you were back then," He drinks some of his coke.

I raise an eyebrow. "How was I 'back then'?"

"Well let's see," Cartman looks to the upper left-hand corner, as if that area of the restaurant has all his answers for him. "You were impatient, stubborn, a know-it-all, a pain-in-the-ass, greedy, a little bitch, annoying-"

"Are you going somewhere with this, Fatass?" I snap, feeling my face turn red with impatience.

"- But you were also smart, a hard-worker, honest, caring, loyal, and most importantly you were really, really... I don't know how to say it..." He taps his left index finger on his chin.

"Really what?"

"I don't know, 'eager', I guess?" he says in a questioning tone.

"Eager?" I echo, disappointed.

"I mean like, eager to learn an' shit," he explains as he takes another fork-full. "But not just eager with school. You were just, eager with life."

"And now I'm not?" I assume, finishing his thought.

"I guess," he says, "but it's because you're stuck in a rut, right? It happens to the best of us. You'll get over it."

"I feel like I've been stuck in this so-called rut for years and years and years," I murmur. "It's slowly becoming part of who I am."

"Don't let it," he says.

"It's hard not to…"

I mean it. I've been feeling out of whack since my teen years. I think this is when the whole "hermit" thing started. I stopped being social, but I always thought it was because of Ike. I wanted to spend time with him. He was more important.

"Ever consider therapy?" Cartman asks out of the blue.

I give him a dull stare before pointedly rejecting the idea, "No."

I'm definitely not the Broflovski that needs therapy. Ike is.

Cartman shrugs unceremoniously. "All right, no need to get snappy. It was just a thought."

"There's nothing wrong with me," I insist. "Maybe I just need to get out more. I'm a recluse and that can't be healthy, right?"

"Right," he agrees. "Well, I'll be sure to take you out again if this goes well."

"Goodie," I say, trying not to sound sarcastic but trying not to sound eager either.

He just smiles and he looks so fucking charming, like he's reading all my thoughts and it's making him smug.

"Oh, shut up," I mumble, moving the food around my plate with my fork.

"But I didn't say anything, Kahl," he responds sweetly.

"Are you finished?" the waitress intervenes, and for once she has good timing.

"Oh yes I am, thank you!" Cartman says, smiling. The waitress places his empty plate in her left elbow while holding the empty bread plates in her left hand as she reaches toward my plate with her right hand.

"Are you done?" she asks.

I look down and see that I've eaten about half of my salad. I feel Cartman's eyes burning wholes through me and, for a split second, I can tell that he senses my anxiety.

"Yes I am," I answer perhaps a bit too reassuringly, turning my eyes to the waitress. She smiles and with no judgement takes my plate.

"I'll be right back with the check," she says.

Immediately after she leaves, the brunet is frowning and staring at me.

"What?!"

"You hardly ate your salad, Kahl."

"I told you I wasn't hungry," I retort. "So fuck off."

"No need to get ugly, Kahl."

The waitress comes back with only one check.

I immediately feel uncomfortable and guilty. I turn to her and say before she can leave, "Oh, I meant to ask for separate ch-"

"I got it!" Cartman interrupts.

"You sure?" I ask.

"Yes I'm sure," he says. He then he nods to the waitress, dismissing her as he reaches for his wallet.

"You... You don't have to pay for me," I say timidly.

"I know that Kahl," he says, after he puts his credit card in the check booklet. "But I want to."

"But I feel bad," I moan, and I regret saying that as soon as I did.

"If you feel that bad Jew," he pauses to give the waitress the check booklet as she passes by, "then you can join me for ice cream after this."

"Ice cream?" I ask, puzzled.

"Because you hardly ate your salad Kahl."

I debate on declining just for the sake of it, but I don't. Instead, I relent and agree with, "All right."

He gives me a satisfied smile. "Good."

Once he is finished paying, we leave. We're quiet until we're back in his car. "Radio?" he asks.

"Whatever," I respond with a shrug.

He turns it on, probably in an attempt to make things less quiet and less awkward. It sucks. Things never used to be tense between us. Then again, maybe I'm the one making it this way. I worry too much. I'm being a moron.

"What's on your mind?" he asks as he backs out of the parking space.

"Nothing," I tell him.

"Liar," he says, "but whatever, I won't pry."

I stare out the window, watching the scenery pass by. Farmland, farmland and more farmland. I stare up at the sky. The sun will be setting soon. It feels strange to be out at this time. I feel like I haven't seen the sun set in years. I probably haven't.

Before I know it, we're already pulling up into Pavi's, a local mom-and-pop ice cream joint.

We step out of the car and for once, the weather isn't frigid cold with the sun setting. We walk up to the window and the young teenager working there asks us, "How can I help you?"

I watch Cartman, who seems absolutely mesmerized by the menu, as he contemplates with his finger on his chin.

"I'll have the double scoop large Belgian waffle cone," he orders "and I want one scoop to be chocolate chip cookie dough and the other to be rocky road."

I chuckle, seeing that he still has that insatiable sweet tooth.

"Your turn, Kahl."

"Oh!" I said, snapped out of my thoughts. "I'll have a single chocolate cone."

"Fucking boring Jew," my companion snaps.

"At least I'm not going all-out, Fatass!"

"Ay! I think I deserve to splurge every now and then, Jew!"

I snort back a laugh. "You used to splurge quite a lot."

"Well, times change," he says.

We wait silently as the kid scoops ice cream. When he hands us our cones, Cartman pays and we take a seat in the corner of the room.

"You didn't have to that," I tell him.

"Do what?" he questions.

"Pay for me again," I say.

He rolls his eyes at me. "Get over it, Jew. It's not a bad thing to let someone treat you, y'know. Just enjoy it. This is a date after all."

We eat, falling into another silence. Halfway through, I ask, "Cartman, why'd you used to eat so much?"

"Dunno," he says simply. "I just did."

I have a feeling that's a lie, but I don't pry. I guess I have no right to ask, especially not if I'm still keeping so man secrets from him.

"I always felt like there was something missing," he continues suddenly.

His voice jerks me from my thoughts. I turn my head to face him. "Yeah?" I urge him to continue.

"That was another reason I was so spoiled and was such a pain-in-the-ass to my myum. She would get me all the KFC I wanted, buy me all the video games I wanted, be there and console me whenever I cried like a bitch, and it STILL wasn't enough."

"What do you think it was?" I ask, before licking my ice cream.

"I could just point at the obvious elephant-in-the-room and say it was the fact that I didn't have a father growing up," he says, before biting into his ice cream. "And I'm sure that had something to do with it, but I've thought about it a lot over the years."

"What do you think it was?" I ask, carefully licking any ice cream that starts to melt.

I see Cartman do the same with his double scoop ice cream cone before he scrunches his eyebrows and asks, "Tell me Kahl. Have you ever heard of the expression 'a God-Shaped hole'?"

I shake my head.

"Well, when I went an NA meeting with my myum one time, they were talking about it in a meeting." He explains. "Basically, it's that part inside of you that desperately needs or wants something from the outside to fill it. To make you "complete", if you will."

I nod, listening. "Okay..." I say, before biting into the cone.

"Now, not everyone has a God-Shaped hole, Kahl," he says, now with the first scoop basically gone and is now working on the second scoop. "Some people are just so happy that they can shit, and that's fucking great." For once, he sounds genuine.

"And you weren't happy?" I ask, biting again in my cone.

"I wasn't happy," he confirms.

"Are you now?" I pry. For some reason, this conversation feels meaningful. I feel like, for the first time, he's actually talking to me and not just talking at me. He's telling me about things that matter and not just dumb shit to pass the time.

I'm discovering how much I like the sound of his voice. Somehow, it sounds differently. Perhaps it's because this conversation means something. He still has that strange, undistinguishable accent, but I can't help but find it charming.

"I'm content," he admits with a shrug. "It comes and it goes, but I do all right. I was a mess for a while, but once I got to the root of the problem, that's when the weight started to come off. I was just a teenager, but I was having a pretty hard time moving around. I think I realized that I needed to change when my doctor told me I was going to die if I didn't take control of my life soon. So, I did."

"That's good, Cartman," I tell him. "I'm happy for you."

He smiles and nods. "I guess I'm happy for me, too."

"You seem to really have it together," I say. "I'm a little envious."

"What about you, then?" he asks, turning the conversation towards me. "What's keeping you so down?"

"I thought you weren't going to ask," I point out.

He shrugs his shoulders. "I won't ask for details. You can be as vague as you want. Just talk."

"I just didn't really get to do what I wanted," I answer.

"You mean with work?" he asks, now biting into the cone.

I shrug. "Yeah, I guess with work mostly. I mean, my job pays well, but it's really monotonous and it kinda sucks."

"What did you want to do?"

I scrunch my face. "I don't know, really. A part of me wanted to be a doctor, another part of me a veterinarian, another part of me a paediatrician,"

"Weren't you a biology major for a second, back in college?" he asks, making progress with the cone.

"I was," I say, taking another bite. "I changed because my GPA was dropping. I was upset that I couldn't keep a 4.0, but that's normal for bio majors."

Cartman makes a similar scrunched expression, digesting what I just said. "If that's normal for a bio major, then why did you really change your major? Because you have always been a perfectionist?"

"Sort-of," I say, after finishing the last bite of my cone. "I wanted to graduate magna cum lade, but that wasn't the only reason. Honestly, going into the medical field was always my dream."

The brunet lets out an wisp of air, irritated. "Then why didn't you just GO for it, if it was your dream?"

"I didn't think I was good enough," I say quickly, as if just to get it out of me.

Cartman lets out a scoff. "Damn, Jew. You have some major self-esteem problems."

"Shut up," I retort.

"Well, it's true," he says. "When people start to think they're not good enough for the things they want, then there's a big problem. You can't keep putting yourself down.

"I know," I admit. "It's hard... Things just piled up and soon enough I felt like I was fucking drowning. Everything in the world was going wrong. I guess I kind of gave up and started to sink."

"Shit happens," he says with a shrug.

"This was more than just shit," I murmur. "This was, like... a whole other level of shit."

"What do you mean?" he asks.

I sigh, thinking of how I want to explain it. "Cartman, you wouldn't be surprised if I told you that I've been struggling with depression for a long, long time, would you?"

He scoffs. "Well, no shit!"

"I don't know how to explain it," I say, crossing my legs. "It goes so far back that I don't even know where to begin to even look at the problem. Sometimes it isn't even just depression, it's all these other wrong moods. It's like no matter what I feel, I feel too much of it – especially with anger. I lash out at myself and I lash out at others…"

"If you don't want to see a therapist, you should really just get out and socialize more," he says. "Isolation just makes this shit worse."

I shrug. "Maybe," but I know from experience that he is right.

"Speaking of which," the brunet starts, "You ever just talk to Stan, or Butters? What about Kinneh? He's still here in South Park, isn't he?"

"Yeah," I say. "I don't talk to Stan much these days. I think I bring him down. Ironic, I always used to say that about him. The tables turned. He married Wendy and basically fucked out of my life. Um, Butters... He's gone, too. He's dating a Raisin's girl. They're in Denver. He teaches elementary. Kenny... I still talk to him sometimes. He stayed in South Park. He's always the one to try and get me out of bed on bad days. He's a bartender, but I think he has a few illegal side jobs, too. I don't know. I don't ask, but he's pretty sketchy sometimes."

"What do you mean?" Cartman pries curiously before chortling and adding, "Are you saying he's a hooker?"

"Er, I was leaning more towards drug dealing, but if he does hook... I guess that isn't shocking," I admit. "Not that I can talk. I don't do that, but I'm a fucking slut."

"Ah, come on," Cartman reasons. "You gotta stop demeaning yourself like that."

"I already told you I'm fucking depressed," I deadpan. "Self-hatred tends to come with that fun package..."

He shrugs his shoulders. "You shouldn't self-diagnose, Kahl. Lots of symptoms are the same. Go see a professional. It's really not that scary. I saw a few doctors when I was young and obese. Some of them are shit, but some of them are great. You might have to try a few doctors until you find one you really like, but when you do it'll help. Well, it'll help if you let it."

"It's pointless, Cartman," I say with a somewhat impatient sigh. "I know how I feel."

"Do you want to just revel in it?" he retorts. "Or do you want to feel better?"

"It's not that simple," I murmur.

"Sure it is," he argues.

He's starting to really piss me off again.

"To be blunt... You're clearly hypersexual," he continues. "Is that typically a symptom of depression? And what about the mood swings you just mentioned? I don't know. I'm not a doctor. All I'm saying is that there might be something more going on than depression. Depression is a part of other illnesses, too. Plus, don't you want to get to the root of the problem?"

"Shut up," I mutter. "God, I don't want to talk about this anymore... Besides, I am pretty sure I know the root of my problem already."

"And that is...?" he asks.

"Let's _not_ talk about it tonight," I say, perhaps too sharply.

Then there's an awkward silence.

I clear my throat, feeling a big bad because I know Cartman's just trying to help. Fuck, he's the only person that has shown any real concern for my emotional well-being in years.

"Can I ask a really strange question?" I say gingerly.

Cartman raises a brow, a bit taken aback by my switching gears. "Go ahead, Jew."

"You remember college, right?"

He smirks, like that was a retarded question. "I didn't party THAT hard, Kahl."

"I mean, of course you do," I answer myself. "What I mean is, do you remember how simple life was back then?"

Cartman nods, and then moves his gaze out in front of him, in deep thought. "Well yeah, of course, Kahl."

"We thought we had it so stressful," I reminisce. "Having to balance school and work, and getting into maybe my first real serious relationship... I really thought I was an adult back then,"

"Annnnnd what's your point?" he says, growing impatient.

"I had it so good back then," I say. "I mean sure, I had my problems back then too, but it was nearly as bad now. Shit, back in college we ALL had it so good, we just didn't know it."

"That's how life is," Cartman says simply. "In high school, we thought we had it rough. In college, we looked back on it and laughed. Now, we do the same thing about our college experience. Things seem hard and then we kick ass and look back on it and realize it wasn't that big a deal. It doesn't just apply to school. I think it applies to life in general."

"Hm," I muse. Perhaps he is right. I think it would be nice if he was. Someday, I want to be able to look back at where I am now and be relieved that I'm in a better place.

"Ah, come on, you'll be okay," Cartman says, almost like he's reading my mind.

I juts smile at him. "Maybe."

"Not _maybe_," he insists, "you _will_ be okay. Life is all about struggles and choices, Kahl. It's not fair, but then again... No one said life was going to be fair."

"Okay," I say, relenting. "Sorry for being such a downer,"

"It's okay, Kahl," he says. "Being human doesn't make you weak."

Is this Eric Cartman saying this? I mean, I know he's matured a good deal, but is this REALLY him?

"Well, shall we head back, my Jew?"

"Sure," I answer, following his lead and walking to the car. "...Did you just say, 'My Jew'?"

Cartman unlocks the door before he got in. "Why yes, Kahl," he answers. When we're both inside the car, he asks "Does that bother you?"

I shake my head. "No. Just different, is all."

The drive back is pretty quiet. The sun has just set and the sky is turning a dark shade of orange, with hints of fuchsia. To be honest, I can't remember the last time I've seen the sky look so beautiful.

Soon enough, we're parked. Silently, we move back upstairs and take the elevator to our floor. "So... This was nice," I say.

"Yeah, nice," he agrees.

More silence and soon the elevator _dings_. We move down the hallway and stop when we're standing in front of our apartments.

"So, hey..." he starts, "can I try something?"

"Sure," I say.

And slowly, he leans forward. He presses his parted lips against mine, sealing them shut like an envelope. The kiss is quick and chaste, but I can tell it means a lot.

"Was that okay?" he asks when we break apart.

I can't help but smile. "Perfect."


	6. Chapter 6

**Eric's POV**

**Note: We changed the statue of limitations for the state of Colorado.**

Okay, fuck it. I'll be honest. I had a hard time sleeping last night.

I feel myself turning to the side to get a glimpse of my alarm clock. 9:34. Well, I guess I do have to get up sometime. FUCK!

I stretch and feel the sunshine on my face, leaking through the blinds... I guess I woke up once or twice in the middle of the night, wondering if all that shit really went down.

Now, I'm a pretty fearless guy. I usually don't mind taking chances and just saying, "Fuck it."

But I have to say that I was pretty scared to take the chance I took last night.

Did I actually kiss Kahl? Kyle Fucking-Goodie-Goodie-Two-Shoes-Jew Broflovski?

AND he actually didn't seem to mind it?

I mean, maybe he did, but being that he seems to get around these days, he wasn't going to say no. But if that were true, why did he kiss me back?

These thoughts have been racing through my mind since we parted ways last night. As soon as I was alone, I couldn't help but reflect on the entire night's events. Now it's driving me mental. I'm going to have to ask him about it. I'll try not to be an asshole while I'm at it. I lack tact sometimes, especially when it comes to the damn Jew. I can be mean.

I get out of bed, stretching out my limbs some more. First thing's first. I move into the bathroom and ready myself for the day. Then breakfast. I have eggs and toast and bacon, eating in silence. After that, I go back into my room to check my emails. Nothing important.

I'm not sure what I'll end up doing today, but I'll probably see Kyle at some point - whether or not it's planned.

I'm worried about him. That's what it boils down to. He's fucked up - really fucked up. He was never the most stable guy around, but he's so much worse now.

Still, I'm not going to think about that. Instead, I'm going to go to the gym. I need to work off all the shit I ate yesterday.

.

.

I arrive at the gym and there's only a handful of people here. That's what I have always liked about this gym; it's never overcrowded. Once I put my shit away in my locker I climb on the elliptical and get ready to go at it for some time. I do believe the elliptical is part of the reason as to why I have such a great ass (if I do say so myself). Well, the elliptical and squats. Guess I should do that today, too.

After about half an hour I notice someone climbing on the elliptical next to me. I glance, and then do a double take. I rip the ear buds out of my ears.

"Kahl?!" I exclaim in shock. "Since when do you work out?"

He smiles sheepishly while punching the buttons for his settings. "I just started," he says.

"Really?" I ask, somewhat surprised. I never pictured him in a gym. He seems too anxious for it.

"Yeah," he says. "I'm not horribly out of shape, but I could look better. I guess I want to increase my stamina."

I nod my head along to what he's saying. I bet the only exercise he gets is when he's riding a dick. "Natural highs are better than whatever feeling alcohol gives you," I tell him.

"We'll see," he says with a shrug before returning his attention back to his pace.

I decide to to the same.

I think it'd be nice if he stopped drinking all together, but I doubt it will be that easy. He might like to think it's not a problem, but it's obvious that it is. If he can somehow substitute drinking for exercise, I think he'd be much better off.

"By the way," I say, pulling myself from my thoughts. "Did you have fun last night?"

"Yeah!" he answers enthusiastically, smiling. "I mean," he breaths heavy, "yeah. It was fun." I can tell he's trying to tone down his excitement.

"Good," I say. I am going faster than him but it isn't effecting my breathing much. "I hoped you would."

Then neither of us say anything, going back to our workout. I start to wonder if I should just put my ear buds back in or if that would come off as dick to the Jew.

"Oh, umm..." he starts slowly.

"Yes?" I ask, looking over at him.

"What are you up to today?" he wonders, huffing the words out.

"Well, I'm meeting with a Realtor this afternoon," I explain. "I got to start working on selling the house." I realize that I feel kinda sad actually saying that.

"You're selling it?" The redhead asks, somewhat surprised.

"There's no reason for me to keep it," I explain, wiping the sweat from my forehead.

He nods his head understandingly. "So, that's it then?"

"I guess so."

"Doesn't it feel weird selling the house you grew up in?"

"I guess so," I murmur once more.

"What now?" he asks.

"I don't know," I admit.

"Are you staying here? Leaving?"

He's full of questions today.

"I don't know," I say again and it's the truth. I'm not sure what I'm going to do. I'm not sure if I'm going to stay. I'm not sure if I'm doing to leave. I'm not sure what would be easiest or smartest, but I'm not rushing my decision.

"I know that I do have to start going through everything in the house and either sell it or put it in a storage unit."

"You doing that today?" the Jew asks. His pace looks like it's slowing down.

"No. Not today. Just meeting with the realtor," I say, keeping my pace the same. "Why do you ask?"

"Ummm, nothing," Kyle says, picking his pace up a little.

I laugh. "You want to know what I'm up to tonight, don'tcha, Kahl?"

"Maybe," he huffs.

"I'm sure I can pencil you in this evening," I smile. "What did you have in mind, Jew?"

He gives me a dull stare. "Whatever you want, Cartman," he says calmly. "I'm easy to please."

"Are you?" I taunt, not quite believing it.

"Yes," he insists.

I chuckle at that and then say, "All right, how about we just kick back and watch a movie? I'd say let's have a glass of wine, but alcohol seems to be a little too tantalizing for you. I don't want you to go nuts."

He huffs some more. "I can control myself," he tells me, even though it's a big fat lie.

"Oh yeah?" I taunt again.

"Yes!" he exclaims.

I glance at my iPhone. 10:45. I'm meeting the realtor at 11:30. FUCK.

"I hate to be a downer Kahl," I say as I turn down the resistance. "But I'm going to have to wrap this up. Gotta meet the realtor at 11:30."

I see the disappointment in his face but then he nods, quickly catching himself and brushing it off. "'Kay," the Jew responds. I dismount the elliptical and I can feel his eyes still fixated on me. "Ummm," he huffs awkwardly.

"I'll call you this afternoon, okay?" The Jew is so easy to read.

"You would need my number right?"

Oh shit. I STILL don't have his number. I grab my phone and add his digits and call him quickly call him to make sure I got it right.

"Kewl," I say. "See yah later, Kahl."

He waves before turning away and returning to his work out. I watch him for a brief moment, watching his movements. This is good for him. This is healthy - much healthier than binge drinking.

After another brief moment, I make my way to the locker rooms, showering quickly before changing into something more business appropriate. After checking myself in a mirror, I decide I'm good to go. I take my gym bag and sling it over my shoulder before leaving the gym. In the parking lot, I find my car and drop my bag in the trunk before settling in the driver's seat. Pulling out of the parking lot, my mind starts wandering.

It's been happening a lot. My mind starts to wander and I end up thinking about Kyle. I still can't help but find it funny, the way things are turning out. I still can't help but wonder where this is leading, though.

.

.

_"You have reached your destination."_

My GPS says as I pull into the driveway of "Lockhart Realtor". I walk inside and am greeted by an older (but attractive) woman. "You must be Eric!" she says too excitedly. She quickly pushes herself up from her desk and extends her hand.

"I am," I say, noticing that her handshake is perhaps a little too firm. "And you're Erin Lockhart, I'm guessing?"

"Erin Lockhart, yes indeed!" She smiles and motions for me to follow her. "Would you like anything to drink, Eric?"

"Just water, thanks," I say as I sit down. She comes with a glass of water and places it in front of me on her desk neatly using a placemat first.

"Soooo," she starts by opening up a folder, putting on her reading glasses, and going through papers. "The house is in your mother's name, Liane Cartman, correct?"

"That's correct," I answer.

"And you live in Denver, right?"

"Yep."

"How much time do you have here, in South Park?"

I shrug. "Well obviously I don't have forever. But I could stay here a couple of months, if I have to."

I notice the realtor making a sour face.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Well, in a normal housing market, a couple of months wouldn't be a problem," she starts.

"Buuuut...?"

"But, to be quite frank Eric, it's going to be difficult to sell a nice home like yours within a couple of months here in South Park,"

I deadpan. WHAT?

"No one moves to South Park," she catches herself. "I mean, not _many_ people move into South Park on a daily basis."

"Okay," I breathe heavily. "So, what are we gonna have to do to make it happen?"

"Well," she starts by taking off her glasses. "Have you gone through your mother's things yet?"

"What do you mean?" I raise an eyebrow.

"If you're planning to sell the house completely, it would be best to start emptying it. The sooner a new home owner can move in, the more likely it is to sell."

The thought of it hits me hard. I don't really want to start sorting through her things so soon, to be honest. It seems too grim - like I'm going through her life. I used to do it all the time as a kid, but doing it as an adult I might find out things I'd rather not know about... Then again, maybe it'll all just make me too fucking sad. She's dead. Somehow, it still doesn't feel quite real.

"Oh," is all I muster up, frowning to myself as the thoughts continue to pervade.

The realtor gives me a sympathetic look and says, "I don't meant to sound harsh, but it needs to be done quickly if you're on a tight schedule."

"Yeah, I understand," I tell her.

Honestly, I haven't spent much time in that house since leaving South Park. I visited, sure, but not often. I regret that. I wish I came around more. I wish I spent more time with her. Now it's too damn late.

"You think we can have the house ready for viewing next week?" she asks.

"Sure," I answer hesitantly. "I'll go ahead and get started today."

Shit. This is NOT what I had in mind for my plans today. But I guess I knew my trip back to South Park was going to to tough for this reason.

"Great," she says.

.

.

I pull up to my old house and turn off the ignition. I take a deep breath. I SO don't want to do this.

I step inside and take a moment. It all looks the same. Fuck, it even smells the same. It's familiar - the place of my childhood. I spent a lot of happy and sad times here - a lot of times with Kyle, Stan, Kenny. That's all gone from my life now. Everyone is gone. Everyone except for the Jew.

I take a deep breath and walk to the basement. I'll start from the bottom up. Most of the basement is already packed up anyway. I just need to bring them upstairs and load them in my car.

So, I get to work. I try to work diligently. I'll look through the boxes later. I don't want to get distracted. I just want this done.

I don't even see the sun setting once I make it upstairs. I am so tired and worn out that I had to stop and see what's available in the kitchen. Myum was always a healthy eater; a bag of rice cakes and some coke zero do the trick for me.

With the basement and mid floor packed up and ready-to-go, I take a deep breath while I contemplate the upstairs part of the house. While I don't know if I'll finish the upstairs today, I definitely want to try to start. I slowly open the door and feel almost mesmerized by what I see. Everything is just as I left it. Even Clyde Frog is in his usual spot, propped up against my desk. I sit at my desk and pick him up. Hmm, it's hard to not talk to him like I did when I was young. But there's something about holding him that feels... Familiar and safe. Besides, I locked the front door behind me when I came in. Even if it does look gay, no one will ever know.

My eyes wander to the books laying on my desk. Some old text books, an autobiography of Terrance and Philip, a World War 2 Memorabilia, and then something catches my eye. A photo album...?

I pick it up and sit on my bed before opening it up.

Shit.

It's full of photos from my childhood - photos of me with Kyle, Stan, Kenny, Butters and even some fucks I didn't care for that much like Craig, Token, Tweek and Clyde. Christ, I wonder what the fuck happened to Craig and his idiotic friends. Half of them are probably dead. None of them had much going for them.

I leaf through more photos. In them, I'm young and smiling. So is Kyle.

Hell, how times have changed - the way they so often do... and at too many times it's for the worst.

I find a group picture of me, Stan, Kenny, and the Jew. Kenny is on the end, next to Stan, who looks like his usual hippy self. Then there's the Jew, slightly facing him but making a sour face at me over his shoulder. I was definitely grinning and looking right at the Jew, up to my usual shenanigans. The picture is comical itself, but for whatever reason it makes me sad. I get a closer look of the picture. Despite Kyle's sour face, I see a suppressed smile underneath his "eat shit" expression that he was trying to give me. His cheeks are flushed and I can tell that he looks a little embarrassed that I'm messing with him. Still, he looks very much that he was in the moment in this picture. He looks very... happy.

Christ, Jew. What happened to you?

I am so deep in thought that I almost don't hear my phone getting a text message. I pull it out and look.

_Hey_ is all the text from Kyle says.

I respond with a similar greeting and then I ask him what's up.

KYLE: Not much, you?  
ME: I'm at my mom's house trying to get rid of everything. Just found a photo album.  
KYLE: Ha, who of?  
ME: Childhood stuff. Some of you. I'll show you later.  
KYLE: Sounds good. I want to see.

I set my phone aside again for a moment, leafing through more pictures. I'm glad my mom kept these. I leaf back to the one where Kyle looks happy and take a picture with it on my phone before sending it to Kyle.

ME: Remember this?  
KYLE: Wow.  
ME: Yeah I know, wow.  
KYLE: Can I ask you something?  
ME: 'Course Jew.  
KYLE: Do you still want to hang out tonight?  
ME: Sure I do.  
KYLE: 'Kay. I'll be at the apartment. Lemme know when you're ready. You'll bring that album, right?  
ME: Yep. See yah in an hour, kay, Kahl?  
KYLE: See yah soon, Cartman.

I look out the window and I see that the sun is setting. I guess I'll finish up with the upstairs part of the house tomorrow. I should probably head home and take a shower before I see the Jew tonight.

I stretch me limbs out and then leave, getting in my car and setting the photo album in the passenger's seat. I don't know what I'll do with the rest of this shit. I guess I'll have to sell most of it. It'll be fucking depressing. It'll be like selling parts of my damn childhood. It's weird to think about. Gay as it sounds, it kind of hurts to think about.

I drive back to my apartment and try to focus on the road. It doesn't take me long.

When I'm back, I grab the album and move inside. I set it on the sofa and head straight for the bathroom. I turn on the taps and peel off my clothes, washing off quickly. When I'm done, I dry off and move into my room before getting dressed. I put on something nice yet casual.

Once I'm good to go, I send Kyle a text and then I grab the photo album, making my way next door. I knock a few times before simply allowing myself in.

"Kahl?" I call.

"One sec!" I hear him call back.

I move into the living room and sit down, setting the album on the coffee table. I can't help but think about the first time I was in this room and Kyle got drunk and started whining before taking off his damn clothes.

God, that was fucked up.

Well, at least he didn't have a fit. I don't know what the hell I'd do in that situation.

After another minute, Kyle appears. He's wearing a knitted sweater and a pair of beige khakis. His hair is tidy and he looks good. "Hey," he says before apologizing with, "Sorry about that. Sometimes I'm bad at being on time."

I shrug my shoulders and tell him, "It's fine." I pat the spot next to me and say, "I brought the album. We can look at it if you want."

He sits down next to me, reaching for it on the coffee table and placing it gingerly on his lap before opening to the first page. "Geez," he says, very slowly turning to the next page. "We were so young,"

"No shit," I say.

"Ohh," he says. "This is the picture you texted me earlier, right?" He points to that distinctive group photo where it looks like we were having a blast.

"Yes," I confirm. "You see how happy you are there, Kahl?"

For a second his face looks like a deer in headlights. Then his expression softens in a sad way and he turns his gaze back to the picture. "Yeah..."

"What happened, Jew?" I ask, still looking at his eyes.

"Life happened, I guess," he says softly, focusing on the picture.

I still want to pry. Fucking hell, I want to pry... but I force myself to keep quiet. He'll tell me when or if he's ready. I don't want to keep nagging him about whatever the fuck is going on. He's probably getting damn sick of it by now.

After a moment, he turns the page. There are more pictures. With each page we turn, we're aging in the photographs.

"Graduation," Kyle recalls when we finally reach the end of the album. There are countless photos of crowds of students. My mom took them. I think my mom took pretty much all of the photos in this album and, shit, I'm glad she did.

"Yeah," I say. "Seems like so damn long ago."

"It was," Kyle point out.

"Sometimes I forget how many years have passed," I admit.

"Me, too."

The Jew then sits there, looking at me. Christ, does he have the prettiest green eyes. Before I even know it, I'm placing my hand under his chin, leaning forward and kissing him. It's very slow and gradually both of our mouths part open and our tongues tangle. I can hear Kyle closing the photo album and placing it on the coffee table before he wraps his arms around me and leans back on the couch. I swear I hear some soft and light moans coming from the Jew's lips while I gently press up against him, towering over him a bit on the couch while our kissing gets more intense.

Before things get too heated, I abruptly sit up and clear my throat. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that, Kahl."

The redhead looks at me, still laying on the couch. He chuckles, maybe out of surprise. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Cartman."

"I mean," I run my right hand through my hair, my left hand placed on my left knee. "What I meant to do was to ask you if you wanted to go out to eat tonight, or maybe a movie or something? Since we didn't really get a chance to talk about it earlier."

He shrugs. "It's fine..." he says. "We can just stay in if you want."

"I don't want to move too fast," I tell him. I know he's probably been hurt in the past and I don't want to look like just another dick who wants to fuck him.

He chuckles at that. "Oh," he says in a teasing tone. "You're a nice guy, huh?"

I give him a dull stare, not wanting to get wrapped up in any of his annoying games. "I just don't want to fuck around with you, Jew. Don't be a dick."

Is it right to call him out like that? I don't want him to have a fucking temper tantrum. I should probably be more careful, especially since we're starting this kind of relationship.

"I'm not!" he snaps at me.

"Then tell me what you want to do," I say.

"I told you I'm fine with staying in," he repeats himself tersely. "You were the one jumping to conclusions. Shit."

"Fine, I'm sorry," I apologize. It's fucking hard to do because I'm not one for apologies.

He softens, sensing it. "It's fine... So am I. I get defensive... but really, it's okay if we stay here. I won't try anything. I won't even get drunk, okay?"

I look at him somewhat warily.

"I won't!" he protests. "So, uh, wanna watch something on Netflix?"

I shrug and nod. "Sure. Whatcha have in mind?"

The ginger shrugged. "Wanna watch _50 Shades of Grey_?"

I laugh at the prospect. "You mean, _50 Shades of Gay_?"

The Jew laughs. "Well, what do you want to watch?"

I shrug. "Anything other than that S&amp;M chick-flick shit."

He pauses for a second. "I still haven't seen _Lone Survivor._"

"Fuck it, let's watch it." I shrug again.

So, Kyle turns on the television and we start the movie. "Want anything to drink?" Kyle asks before sitting back down.

"Water is fine," I tell him.

He nods, leaving the room briefly. When he returns, he has two cups of water. "Here," he says, setting one down in front of me.

I thank him and we watch the movie quietly. Kyle drinks his water quickly, going to get another glass. I put my arm around him when he returns, watching as he sips on his water.

Towards the end of the movie, I get suspicious. I grab his glass and take a whiff. "For fuck's sake, this is vodka!" I snap in disbelief.

Kyle stares at me, but he doesn't say anything. He doesn't try to defend himself. He just glances to the side, looking almost ashamed.

"I thought you weren't going to drink!" I say, again.

"Look, it's just one glass," he responds. "It's not a big deal,"

"Kahl, I thought you were really going to work on this!" I exclaim as I stand up with his glass and walk to the kitchen. I throw it out in the sink.

He watches me, but he doesn't try to stop me as his vodka disappears down the drain. "I'm sorry," he murmurs.

"Why?" I ask him.

"I don't fucking know," he says. "I know you expect better from me and sorry I keep fucking disappointing you."

I let out a sharp sigh, trying to keep myself calm and collected. "It's not about me, is it?" I start. "It's about you and you're health and you're well-being. I just don't get why you want to throw it all away."

"Addiction is complicated," he says softly. "It doesn't matter what I want. It doesn't matter that the things I'm addicted to aren't good for me. There's a sense of need and necessity that you can't possibly understand... and I wouldn't want you to. If you understood, then you'd be like me and you'd be fucked up, too."

I shrug my shoulders. "Just talk to me, then. I may not be able to get it on the same level as you, but at least I can have a better grasp. Then I'll know what to expect."

"All right," he agrees in a mumble.

When we return to the living room, I sit back down next to the Jew on the couch as he takes a deep sigh.

"I don't know if I would say that I'm an alcoholic," he starts, "but sometimes I tend to act out more sexually when I drink too much."

Act out _MORE_ sexually? I can't help but wonder how the hell things could get any worse, but I'm careful not to show what I'm thinking. I just nod.

"But the sex I probably have a problem with," he admits looking down, avoiding eye contact. "The cutting I definitely have a problem with."

"You've been cutting for a really long time, haven't you?" I ask gingerly.

"Yeah," he answers. "Since I was 13." He hangs his head, ashamed.

I want to immediately tell him that it's okay, but I stop myself, figuring that that may not mean a whole lot. I really want to talk to the Jew from the heart, out of sincerity.

"Yah know, Kahl, I may not be some addiction specialist, but I do know a little bit about it because of my myum," I say.

He nods his head, still not looking at me.

"Look at me Jew," I say finally. Slowly, he turns his head and we lock eyes. His big green ones are full of fear, shame, guilt, remorse. Somewhat stunned. "Hey," I whisper, and and grab his right hand. "You don't have to keep living this way if you don't want to."

He smiles bitterly. "It's harder than that... I mean, I can admit these things but actually going and making the change... That part gets hard. I've tried before, y'know? I always end up relapsing and in a worse state than before."

"Have you ever been hospitalized?" I pry, wondering if he ever cut too deep or drank too much.

"Once," he says with a shrug. "Kenny found me bleeding in my bedroom. If he didn't, I'd be dead for sure. I fucking hated him so much when I woke up in the hospital. I never thanked him, but I probably should. He did the right thing, I just didn't appreciate it at the time because I felt so, so, so fucking sad. I never told my parents about it. I didn't want them to know. They have enough shit to take care of without me acting up."

I frown at that. It's a scary thought. It's too scary. It makes me worry for him.

"I mean, I don't truly want to die," he continues, "but sometimes I get stuck in these ruts and I screw up."

"Yeah," I say softly.

"I feel bad for my parents," he murmurs. "They got stuck with two nut-cases. I try to keep my distance because they already have more important things to deal with."

"Don't say it like that," I tell him.

He shrugs again. "I guess Ike actually has an excuse... I don't, really. I can't really pinpoint why I'm like this and all the shitty typical things that might count as a reason happened _after_ I started spiralling downward."

"Like what?" I ask, trying to keep my voice as gentle as I can.

"Violent stuff," he says with a frown.

"Like...?" I trail off and my frown deepens.

"Yeah," he murmurs. "It's like... I bring it on myself half the time. I egg guys on. I invite them to hurt me and they do and I feel like there's still a sense of control with the technical loss of control. Then I get to play the victim and I get to make a scene and scream and I like that. I just want attention, I guess... even if it's the bad kind."

"Heavy," I say, not sure what else I can add because the shit he's saying is so unbelievably fucked up.

"Umm," he starts nervously. "Cartman?"

"Yes?"

"Um, I just want to thank you. For everything,"

"Everything?" I ask.

"I mean, everything you've done since you've been back," he elaborates. "Of course, I wouldn't be surprised if you were to disappear and never talk to me again after everything you know about me," he chuckles cynically.

"Why you're quite welcome Kahl," I start. "You know Jew, you're kinda hard on yourself. Yeah, you've got some issues, but you have a lot of good qualities, too."

The redhead smiles slowly. Then his phone rings, almost breaking us up instantly from the serious conversation. Of course I assume it's going to be one of the Jew's gentleman callers, but when he takes the cell phone out of his pocket he scrunches his eyebrow, confused.

"Who is it?" I ask, curious.

"It's my mom," he says in a shocked tone. "She never calls me." After a split second, he answers the call, putting the phone up to his hear. "Hello?"

I don't hear what Sheila is saying on the other end. All I do is watch as Kyle's expression falls and it honestly looks like whatever his mom just said split his heart in half.

"What?" his voice breaks. "N-no..."

He continues listening to whatever the fuck it is she's saying. He raises a palm, covering his mouth. It looks like he's trying to suppress his emotions. It's worrying me. Whatever he's hearing, it's not good.

"Yeah... Yeah okay," he says, taking it all in. "Hell's Pass? Okay, I'm on my way."

As soon as he got off the phone he gets up from the couch and runs to grab his jacket.

"Kahl, what's going on?" I ask calmly.

"It's Ike," he says shakily.

"What happened?" I ask, following him.

"It was either an overdose or he tried to kill himself... Not sure yet," he reveals, his voice cracking.

I'm full of questions, but I don't pry. Instead, I simply nod my head and take out my keys. "I'll drive," I tell him.

Kyle lets out a shuddery sigh, but relents with a nod. "All right..."

Better than forcing him to walk there since he can't drive.

I slip into my shoes and then follow him out. He doesn't bother locking his apartment. We walk briskly, leaving the building and moving into the parking lot. The ride doesn't take long since everything in South Park is close together. Soon enough, we're pulling into the hospital. I let Kyle out at the front doors while I find a place to park. It's crowded. I guess there are lots of emergencies tonight.

Eventually, I find a place to park. I move into Hell's Pass and linger outside of the waiting room. Should I intrude?

Instead, I decide to wait. I don't want Kyle to think I just dropped him off but I do want to know if he found Ike. So I get out my phone and text.

ME: Hey, did you find which room he's in?

I wait a second, then promptly got a response.

KYLE: He's on the 5th floor in ICU. Room 515. I'm in the elevator.

"Where's the elevator?" I ask the front receptionist.

"Over to the right," the middle-aged woman responds, pointing out what was right in front of me, but for whatever reason I didn't see.

I step in and there are already several people there. I see an older man, sad with red eyes, swollen from crying. I see a few female college students rush in and I hold the elevator door open for them. One of them is carrying a large vase of assorted flowers, and the girls are smiling, discussing if their friend will like the flowers they all pitched in for. I see another older couple, the wife looks tired and the man looks obviously sick and yellow with jaundice. He carries an air of indifference, as if his wife's suffering isn't enough to make him stop whatever he's doing. From the looks of it, I would guess that that would be drinking.

It's fucking depressing. This is why I hate hospitals. Everyone is already half dead or looks it. I cross my arms, trying to keep my personal space, though it's hard in a cramped space such as this.

_Ding_.

I don't fucking get it.

_Ding._

I don't get why a kid like Ike would try to off himself or be on drugs or whatever the hell is going on. He always seemed pretty happy when we were young. Then again, things change as the years go by. I'm no stranger to that.

_Ding_.

I don't know what the fuck might've happened to him.

_Ding_.

But I want to.

_Ding_.

After countless people entering and exiting the elevator, we're on the fifth floor. I let out a breath and step out. It's bright, too blindingly bright. The walls are white, the floors are white and the doctor's in the halls are dressed in white. It all reflects numbingly thanks to the fluorescent lights.

I step out quickly and see the sign directing me to go left for rooms 500 to 525. I move fast, and I realize that room 515 is coming up shortly on my left. The door is closed and to my surprise, I don't hear anything. I knock gently, not sure of what else to do.

Kyle's dad timidly opens the door. He stares at me for a second, not recognizing me. I see that his eyes are swollen and bloodshot, showing me that it wasn't that long ago that he had been crying.

"Hello Mr. Broflovski," I greet him quietly.

"Eric?" He says, dumbfunded. "Is that you?"

I smile and suppress a chuckle. "Yes, it's me."

"Come on in, Eric," he opens the door wider for me and steps aside. I step in and as he closes it behind me he says, "I'm sorry, it's just been a really long time that I've seen you."

"It's okay," I say, wanting to skip the small talk. "What happened with Ike?" I ask while watching the doctor talking to Sheila, who is crying with Kyle by her side. There is also a nurse checking Ike's vitals. Ike appears to be asleep and we all hear his slow heart beat pulsating.

"We... Well, the doctor explained that Ike took a LOT of prescription pills that did not belong to him."

"Shit," I whisper piteously. What the hell is going on with their family? They used to be so... together. "Is he going to be okay?"

"Yes," Gerald says with a sigh. "He's on... suicide watch..." The words come out weak, almost like he can't bear to say it because if he does then it's harder to pretend otherwise.

I nod sympathetically. "If there's anything I can do..." I trail off.

He claps me on the shoulder and gives me a sincere, "Thank you."

"So, will he be in a hospital after this?" I ask gently.

I want answers and since Kyle isn't giving me any, I may as well try to squeeze some out of his dad.

"We're not sure yet," Gerald says, crossing his arms and staring at his unconscious son. "We're not sure if that would be for better or worse."

"Yeah," I murmur. "I can't even imagine... I can tell Kyle has been worried, though."

"He always is," Gerald says with a weary laugh. "I feel like we've let him down... Me and Sheila both feel that way."

"How so?" I pry.

"We just... weren't around," he explains solemnly. "We weren't around when we should have been. We never knew how to properly distribute our attention. We neglected him for a long time... and now we hardly see him anymore. I think he resents us for it."

"I'm sure he doesn't," I try to comfort him, but honestly, I'm not sure. He might be right. Kyle might feel spite towards his parents. He doesn't really talk to me about the most important things. I still have no fucking idea what's going on.

Finally, Kyle turns around and sees me and realizes that I've been in the room for a second. At first he looks stunned with tears running down his cheeks. But then he tucks his chin and looks at the floor, embarrassed. I walk up to him and put a my right hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, Kahl," I whisper.

"Hey," his voice cracks.

"He's still alive," I say, not knowing what else to say. "So, that's good." I suddenly feel stupid saying that, given the circumstances. But I have to be strong for the Jew.

"Mmm-hmm," the redhead murmurs. I can tell that he faking the optimism as well.

"Eric?" Sheila just now sees me, as she has been distracting with her sobbing.

I maneuver over to her and wrap my arms around her, tightly. "Mrs. Broflovski," I say sweetly. Sheila doesn't let go. Instead, her sobs get stronger and I can feel her entire body wrack with each one. I gently play with her long red hair, hoping she knows that I too am hurting for the whole family. I look out the corner of my eye and I see Kyle standing there, arms crossed. His gaze moves towards me and his mom and I can tell he's about to break down, too. Instead, he quickly leaves the room and slams the door.

When Sheila lets me go, I tell them I'm going to find Kyle. They nod gratefully and I leave the room. I glance around the bright, white hallways, but I don't see him. He's probably outside.

I go back down to the first floor and leave the hospital. Right away, I find Kyle on a bench just outside. He's crying still, his elbows on the wooden surface with his face pushed into his palms.

I approach slowly and cautiously. When he hears me, he glances up. "Want to tell me what the fuck is happening?" I ask.

He doesn't respond. "I need a fucking drink," he whispers, wiping his eyes and nose on his sleeve.

I frown at that. "Probably not a good idea, Kahl."

"Shut up..." the bites out. "Honestly, just... just shut up... Nothing fucking matters anymore!"

I sit down next to him and put my arm around his shoulder. He starts sobbing again, louder this time. He sounds so fucking pained. I wish there was more I could do, but it's out of my hands.

"I just... I feel so fucking bad for him and there's _nothing_ I can do!" he sobs.

I rub his back, letting him cry. "I'm sorry," I sympathize. "Do you want to go back inside?"

At first he doesn't respond, so I ask him again. He quiets his crying a bit and slightly nods his head.

I stand up first and then lend my hand. He takes it and I feel how heavy he is as I help pull him up. The Jew shoves his hands in pockets of his coat as walk side by side, back into the entrance.

"Umm," is all I hear when I notice that he stopped walking beside me. I turn around. "Can we... Maybe, talk for a second?" His eyes are big and vulnerable. "You know, before we see him again?" His voice cracks a little when he said 'him'.

"'Course, Kahl. Wanna get some coffee at the new cafe they have inside?"

"Yeah," he says and he continues to follow me. Once we get inside, I ask the receptionist where the cafe is and she directs us to the right. I myself have never been, but my myum told me about all the renovations being made to Hell's Pass about a year ago. She told me how the cafe was being added as well as the hospital restaurant was getting a complete make-over. I remember how amused she was and me rolling my eyes while she told me that over the phone. Now, I wish I could thank her, because I think Kyle has always had a thing for the ambiance of cafes. I think it will help him feel better.

"What do you feel like?" I ask him.

"Um, latte, I guess," he says.

I nod my head and order two lattes. I wait for them while Kyle wanders to find a seat. He's moving like a zombie - tired, distant and removed. I think that's what he's trying to do. He's trying to remove himself from the situation. I can't really blame him. It's probably the only way he can stay sane at this point.

After a few minutes, the drinks are made. Hopefully they won't taste like shit. Hospital food doesn't have a marvellous reputation, but maybe it'll be all right.

I sit across from Kyle. He chooses a seat next to the window-wall. It overseas the field behind the hospitals. There are gardens. In the day time, it looks like it would be nice to walk through.

"Want to talk?" I ask him, taking a sip. Not bad.

He worms his hands around the cup and stares down. "I don't even know what to say..." he murmurs numbly.

"Your dad said it was a drug overdose... Like prescription drugs?"

"I know he's fucked with that shit before," he mumbles. "But Ike was trying to kill himself. I know he was."

Despite the fact that the Jew makes that assessment with such certainty, I still want to doubt it. "Are you sure it just wasn't an accidental overdose?"

"Cartman," he says my name, fully getting my attention. "Ike is very, very smart. He has been doing prescription drugs for a while. He's not the type that would just have an accidental overdose." With that he takes a sip of his coffee."

I sit in silence, not sure of what to say.

"And besides," he breaths, "this isn't the first time he's tried to kill himself."

My face drops. "Are you serious, Kahl?"

The redhead solemnly nods. "If I hadn't had come home from synagogue the time that I did that Sunday, he wouldn't already blown his brains out. Luckily, I made it just in time to fight him for the... the gun."

I again sit there in silence, trying to mentally picture all this. Fuck, no wonder the Jew has issues!

It's a lot to take in. They used to be that picture perfect family. They had the breadwinning father, the caring stay-at-home mom and two smart kids.

"A gun..." I murmur aloud, still in complete and total disbelief. With a gun there is very little room for mistakes. If Ike had a gun, then he really wanted to fucking die.

Kyle lets out a shuddery sigh. "Things have been screwed up for a while..." he says.

That's one way to put it!

"My parents try to do what they can..." he continues forlornly. "They try to help him, they try to get him help... Fuck, nothing works. He's still so..." he trails off.

"Fucked?" I guess.

He smiles wearily. "I don't really want to put it like that... but I guess it's not far off the mark."

"Poor bastard," I mutter, unsure of what else to say. This is some really heavy shit. I'm not used to heavy shit, but I've been having to deal with a lot of it lately. First my mom dies and then Kyle told me he almost died and now Ike is trying to die. It's an idea I can't really get used to. I keep seeing that smiley, stupidly smart kid in my head. "I mean," I say, trying to sort it all through in my head. "Wasn't he happy when he was really little?" I ask this question because I know that children don't really BS or act fake. Shit, I think it's life that teaches us how to do that if we want and usually young children don't know how to yet.

"Yeah," Kyle says. "He was the happiest baby and child in the world..." The Jew emphasized the word "was", almost alluding to something.

"So what happened?" I ask.

"He..." The Jew shakes his head, almost dismissing it. "Something happened when he was young."

"Which was...?" I pry.

"There was this guy that used to drive us to basketball practice while our parents were at the synagogue," he explains hoarsely. "He was a close family friend... Supposedly."

I think I know where this is going, but I'm somewhat too tense, uncomfortable, and a slew of other emotions that I can't really pinpoint to say anything.

"He molested Ike."

I feel my eyes widen substantially. For a few minutes, I don't say anything at all. I can't. No words will form and my throat feels tight. I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding and I finally say, "Fuck..."

Kyle lets out a laugh that sounds like a sob. "Yeah, fuck."

I didn't expect it to be something this bad. You always hear stories like this on the news. You always hear stories about sick freaks hurting kids and the kids never fucking recover. That's probably the worst fucking thing someone can do to a kid. I don't get it. I don't get why someone would hurt a kid. They're all innocent and shit.

I glance at Kyle. His eyebrows are drawn together and he looks fucking miserable. I guess I now understand why.

"So, what happened?" I pry hoarsely. "Did the pervert go to prison?"

I really fucking hope he did. I know what they do to guys like that in prison.

"No," he says. "My dad hired a detective and found out that he moved to California."

Something tells me that that means this sick bastard got off free.

Kyle chuckles in a cynical manner. "You know what he does for a living?"

"What?" I ask, although I'm afraid to.

"He's an elementary school teacher," he scoffs. We both look at each other and read each others' expressions.

"So, he got off totally free?" I went ahead and cut to the chase.

"Yes," Kyle answers. "Ike was so young when it happened, and he didn't bother to tell us until he was 16." He sighs another breath. "And there's a statute of limitations in Colorado."

I sink in my chair. "Kyle," I say, taking my time to say his name right. "I am so fucking sorry."

He rubs a hand down his face, weakly responding with, "Yeah..."

"Bullshit," I whisper, partially to myself. I'm still in complete and total disbelief. I can't believe something like that happened to a kid I know. "So, let me guess... After all of that shit happened, your parents stopped paying attention to you."

Kyle lets out a long breath. "He started acting up before he told us. So, it was more complicated than that... and I don't blame Ike. I mean, he was going through something I couldn't possibly have understood. I don't blame my parents, either. This is quite literally a matter of life and death. It's no wonder he took all their attention."

"All right, so tell me about it," I request. "How do you feel?"

He wrinkles his nose and another tear falls. He swipes it away fast. "I don't know. I just feel fucking bad. I feel like this all the time. It won't go away."

"Then get help," I say simply.

He rolls his eyes a me, dismissing me. "I don't want to think about myself right now. I just... I just want Ike to be okay."

I nod, realizing that maybe right now I should get off his case. After all, his baby brother did try to take his own life tonight.

Kyle leans back in his seat, using his index finger to trace the lip on his coffee.

"Yah know what's really funny?" he says, his eyes not leaving his coffee.

"What's that, Kyle?"

"Ike's the one who got sexually abused," he muses, slowly. "And I'm the one who ended up being the dirty, fucking whore," he finishes in barely above a whisper, but I can understand each word perfectly. He says the last bit with some venom and hate and -just for a split second- I can feel his self-disgust. It makes me sad.

"Don't say that about yourself," I plead. The words come out rough. I feel as though there's something in my throat. Am I getting emotional?

"But it's true, Cartman," he says. He pulls his hand back to himself as he crosses his arms and places them on the table, leaning forward.

"It's not," I challenge.

"It is," he bites back.

I press my lips together, wanting to say something but unsure if I should. Fuck it.

"I think you've been taken advantage of by a lot of the men you've been with," I start. "I think you've been hurt and I think there are times you've probably let it happen. You've literally alluded to it when we were talking a while back, so don't bother trying to deny any of it. You said it. You said people were violent with you."

He's quiet. He doesn't react. He doesn't have a sharp retort. He's just quiet.

"Maybe," he finally murmurs.

"Please, get help," I whisper pleadingly. "This isn't right. It's not normal behaviour, Kahl. You even admitted you tried to kill yourself."

"That was an accident," he says sharply.

"Bullshit!"

He forces a smile and shakes his head. "It's not important now."

"It is if you're hurting," I say firmly, "and I know you are. Don't bother trying to deny that, either."

He sighs, shaking his head again, almost like he's trying to convince himself of something. Of what? I don't know.

"Why do you do it?" I ask him. "You hate it, don't you? You regret it when the moment is over, yet you continue to make the same mistakes. Why?"

"I just..." he starts weakly, trailing off. He clears his throat and continues, "I just get in these moods. Hypersexuality, as you referred to it a while ago..."

"Yeah," I say, nodding my head and urging him to continue.

"Maybe it's kinda like when I drink, you know? Like, when I feel bored, sad, lonely, angry, or irritable- I just can't take it and I need something to change my mood right away. So, I either get completely hammered or I have to fuck- hard. Or sometimes, I just do both at the same time."

I nod, listening. "So basically, you'll do anything not to feel pain, no matter the possible consequences, right?"

He nods solemnly. "Yeah, I-I guess that's right." He drinks the last bit of his coffee. "Weird thing is, no matter how shitty I feel the next day, no matter how much I hate myself, no matter how much I say that I'm never doing this shit again, it doesn't last got long. I ALWAYS go back to doing the same shit, usually about two days later."

"I would really like you to make an appointment with a counsellor today or tomorrow," I suggest. Maybe I'm just now beginning to understand his addictive personality. Or at least, I'm touching the tip of the iceberg for the first time.

The Jew looks apprehensive. "...I'll try."

"Just do it," I urge.

He smiles weakly. "Okay." He then sighs heavily. "I guess we should go back and check on Ike, don'tcha think?"

"Yeah, we should," I say as I push myself off my chair.

While we walk side by side to the elevator, I can't help but notice that we haven't said anything to each other for a couple of minutes. We step into the elevator, which this time is empty. I press the button for the fifth floor when I hear Kyle break the silence:

"Cartman?" he says.

I turn my head to the side to face him. "Yes Kahl?"

"Thank you for listening."

I smile at him and nod. "Any time, Kahl."

He smiles back, though it's lackluster. "You don't have to do that," I say out of the blue.

"What?" he asks.

"Pretend."

He chuckles, rubbing a palm down his weary expression. "All right. Sorry."

Soon, the elevator doors open. We move down the hallway and back towards Ike's room. Hopefully he'll be awake by now and ready to communicate.

"I'll wait out here," I say when we reach the room.

He nods. "All right. Thanks."

I nod back, finding a seat in the hallway and thinking to myself. It's a fuck of a lot to take in. It's a lot worse than I could have imagined. That family went through hell. Especially Ike. He didn't deserve that. He was just a kid. Just a damn kid.

Life is never fair. People rarely deserve the things that get thrown their way.

I pass time by dicking around on Facebook, texting my realtor to let her know that the house may not be ready as soon as we had hoped, and checking out the weather for the following week. A good 20 minutes go by when I can see someone approach me from the corner of my eye.

"Hey," the Jew says as he takes a seat next to me.

"How is he?" I ask, putting my phone away.

"Hey just woke up, but he's really weak. He's not talking much yet," he explains.

"Well, I'm glad he's okay," I try to stay positive, although Kyle and I both know that Ike is from from okay.

"Yeah," he says, "The doctor says that he needs to stay here for another 48 hours to rehabilitate. Also, this will give my parents some time to find a good, local rehab for him. One that the staff here agrees with."

"Good," I say.

"But the doctor doesn't recommend that he stays here alone, and my parents are really worn out, so... I volunteered to watch him tonight."

I'm a bit taken aback by the redhead's new demonstration of selflessness, but I am impressed nonetheless. "I totally understand Kahl," I say. "Is there anything I can get you that you'll need for tonight?"

"I'm good now. Caffeine will keep me going, but... could you drop by a little later?" he asks timidly, like he feels bad making the request.

"Yeah, of course," I tell him surely. "Want me to bring anything?"

"More coffee," he says with a chuckle. "I don't want to sleep much. Not tonight. If Ike wakes up again and wants to talk, I want to be ready to listen... though it isn't likely. He hasn't really spoken to me much these past few years."

I frown. "Well, maybe that will change. Maybe he'll talk to you this time."

"Maybe," Kyle murmurs, not sounding too convinced. "I just... want him to be okay... but it seems so impossible."

"Nothin' is impossible, Kahl," I remind him.

He rolls his eyes at me, but smiles nonetheless. "Look at you, Mr. Positivity."

I just smile back at him. "I won't tell you not to worry, because you have reason to worry... but try not to let it make you fucking sick or anything."

"Ha, I'll try," he mutters. He crosses his arms, leaning against the doorway. "Anyway, I'll talk to you in a bit."

I hold up my hand. "See you. Give Ike my regards."

He nods, waving at me before I turn away. I make my way back down the hallway and into the elevator, down a few floors and out of the building all together.

What now?


	7. Chapter 7

**KYLE'S POV**

_I feel myself slowly come to consciousness, and I instantly realize that I'm not in my bed. Rather, I'm in a sleeping bag on the floor in a hospital room. I pop up, remembering the situation with Ike. I push myself off the ground to check on him. To my surprise, he isn't laying in his bed. I step to the bathroom and knock. Nothing. I notice that it's unlocked so I go ahead and open it. No one's in here._

_"Ike?" I ask as I step outside our room._

_The hallway looks eerily empty and sounds like a ghost town as well. I stand still and I vaguely hear something from the far distance._

_Yelling... Crying, even?_

_I walk in the direction of the sounds. It sounds like a child. But somehow this child sounds familiar, as if I used to know this person a long time ago._

_I keep following this sound and eventually the hall dead-ends. I see one last room with large sealed windows. I look inside and see Ike, around 7 or 8 years old._

_And then I see it. The bastard is cornering Ike, and Ike is screaming, "No! Don't touch me!" he locks eyes with me. "KYLE!"_

_I look for a door but can't get in. I bang on the window but I find out quickly that it's thick plastic; not glass. I proceed to slam my body against it, hoping it will still break._

_"Get the FUCK away from him you sick fuck!" I scream, hitting the window._

_But I can't get at him. I'm not strong enough to break through. Still, I keep banging at it and banging until..._

I bolt upright, letting out a heavy breath. "Shit," I whisper to myself. "I fell asleep."

I stand, stretching my limbs before glancing at the time on my phone. Well, at least I wasn't asleep for long. I glance at Ike, who is still fast asleep. He looks peaceful for a split second, but then his eyebrows draw together. He's probably having a nightmare. I continue watching him, debating whether or not I should wake him. He'd probably just be angry if I did.

I want more than anything in the fucking world for him to just talk to me. I want him to let me help and support him in any way I can. It can't be easy going through it all alone. I want him to let me in... but he never does.

"Ike," I murmur, standing at his bedside. I take his hand in mine, realizing that our hands are the same size. When did that happen? It's been so fucking long, I feel like I missed watching him grow up.

I sniffle a bit. I feel a sob ready to erupt from my throat, but I don't let it. I keep quiet.

There are so many damn things I want to say to him, but I can never get the words out. Maybe I could do it right now, while he's asleep. Then he'd listen without even realizing it.

"I'm sorry I was never around," I whisper, "but that will change... if you want it to." I let out a shuddery sigh, the more I talk the weaker my voice gets. "I know I want it to change," I say softly. While I hold his left hand in my left hand, I use my right hand and pat his forearm. But something feels not right. I look and I see some thin, long scabs peeking out from his rolled-up sleeves. Softly, I let go of his hand and roll up his sleeve a little more, only to expose more scars and scabs.

Jesus Christ.

I stagger backwards and sit down on the nearby chair. I knew that we both struggled with depression. I knew that our religious and overbearing upbringing messed with our heads. I knew that we had a few things in common. But to find out that Ike is a cutter too? All this time and I was so wrapped up in myself that I couldn't see the obvious!

I wonder if Mom and Dad knew. If so, why didn't they tell me?

"Ike..." I say, too speechless to say anything else. I feel my eyes getting watery. "I didn't know you were hurting that bad," I continue, now truly empathizing with him.

I put my head in my hands, leaning forward in a slumped position.

I can't fucking believe this. I don't know what else to say to him. I don't know how to tell him how I'm feeling. I don't know how to tell him how much I love him.

After a few minutes, I raise my head and stare at him intensely, like I'm trying to telepathically communicate it all to him.

He looks so young and small lying there. Then I remember he is. The world has just hardened him. He's always acted older than he was. It's just gotten worse as he grew up.

While I'm deep in thought, my phone rings. I see it's Cartman.

"Hello?" I ask, trying to stable my voice as much as possible.

"_Kahl_?" he says. "_How's it going? Have you talked to him yet?_"

"No not yet," I breathe. "He's been asleep, for the most part."

_"I'm sure he needs to rest,_" I hear him say._ "I'm on my way over, by the way._"

My eyes widen. I look at the clock on the wall.

"Christ, Cartman, it's 4:03 AM!" I exclaim. "Don't you have more important matters to take care of besides me?"

"_I told you I would bring you coffee_," he says. "_Plus I'm not sleeping too well myself."_

"But nothing's open," I say.

"_I'll think of something_," he retorts.

"It's too late anyway," I murmur. "I ended up falling asleep."

"_It's only natural_," he says. "_You were probably tired. I'll be there shortly."_

I force a weary chuckle and then say, "All right, thanks."

"_See you in a bit_," he responds before hanging up.

I put my phone back in my pocket, pacing around the room on quiet feet.

My parents will probably be back in a matter of hours. Things will be hectic for a long time. I don't really want to think about what things are going to be like long-term, but it is going to suck.

It wasn't long before I heard a knock. If that's Cartman, damn he's fast!

I open the door and sure enough it's him. He's actually carrying what looks like to be coffee in his right hand, in a Starbucks-like container.

"Here's your coffee," he says, handing it to me.

"What is this?" I ask. I tap a sip and I notice the whipped cream on top as well. "Where'd you get this?"

The brunet shrugs. "I made it," he states nonchalantly.

It tastes amazing-like a caramel frappuccino. "How?" I ask, taking another sip.

"I bought one of those pre-made Starbucks frappuccinos from the grocery store but then I added some cappuccino yogurt, more ice, and blended it in a blender," he explains. "And I added whipped cream."

"It's really good," I say before taking another sip. I have to say, I'm kinda impressed that he went to these lengths.

I noticed that he's still standing awkwardly outside of the room. "I'm sorry! I said. "Come in."

I step aside and let Cartman in and I pull up a chair next to mine, which is very close to Ike.

He just smiles.

"Thank you," I add.

"Sure," he responds. "It was nothing."

"It's not nothing," I say pointedly. "It's something. It's more than something. Everything you're doing... It means a lot. So, thank you."

"All right," he murmurs softly. "You're welcome, then, Kahl." He nods to Ike and asks, "When do you

think he'll wake?"

"Hopefully soon," I say with a shrug, "but I don't know. Sometimes I glance at him and I wonder if he's just faking sleep so he won't have to deal with us. He's... always been a good liar when he feels that he needs to be."

"Hm," Cartman muses aloud. "Well, he can't sleep forever- pretend or not."

"I know," I say. I quickly glance at Ike's left arm, then look away.

"What's wrong, Jew?" Cartman asks.

"I... Nothing Cartman," I respond.

He stares at me, not amused. "You're a really shitty liar, so you might as well spit it out,"

"Cartman," I start. "You already know so many of my family's secrets. If I tell you something else, you promise not to tell anyone, right?"

He nods. "'Course, Kahl. I promise on my mother's grave." His expression is solemnly serious.

"Come here," I stand up and very quietly get close to Ike. "Look at this," I gently roll up my brother's sleeve. I stare at the scars again, my heart sinking into my stomach. I turn my gaze to Cartman, whose eyes are filled with sadness- much like when he has felt sad for me.

"Jesus Christ, Kahl," he whispers.

"That's exactly what I said," I quietly respond and I pull Ike's sleeve back down before returning to my chair

Cartman stands nearby and he's silent. He probably doesn't know what to say. Fuck, I don't even know what to say. So, we're both quiet for many long moments.

"He needs help," Cartman murmurs out of the blue.

I can't help but scoff. "He's been to countless doctors over the years... It's never done much good. I feel like you need to be completely ready to get help. Ike never was. Maybe he never will be."

"You don't know that," Cartman challenges. "Maybe he is now."

I just shrug my shoulders. "I don't know," I whisper. "I don't know much of anything."

"Not your fault," Cartman tells me.

I shrug again. "Whatever..."

"Kyle," he pronounces my name correctly, which he doesn't do often. "You can really help Ike out now."

"How?" I ask.

"Talk to him," he says. "Open up to him. Let him know he's not alone."

"But... What if he tells our parents some of the shit that I do?"

Cartman thinks for a second before responding. "Didn't you and Ike used to trust each other a long time ago? Maybe even kept secrets from your parents?"

I ponder his question. Yeah, I think there was a time or two when we both swore each other into secrecy not to tell Mom and Dad something. Usually I didn't rat Ike out unless I felt that Mom and Dad needed to know, like that time he was sleeping with his teacher.

"But Cartman, that was so long ago-"

"He's still the same person," he says, cutting me off. He turns his head to take a good look at my little brother. "Yeah, he's changed a lot from since I've last seen him. Yeah, he has a lot more issues now than he did then. Yeah, he's got some serious shit he's going to have to work on, but it's still Ike."

I stare at my childhood friend, wondering what he's getting at. For whatever reason I'm speechless, because Cartman seems really compelled by what he's saying.

"It really has been the exact same thing for me with you," he adds.

"What are you talking about?" I ask weakly.

"I mean, when I saw how much you changed when I first saw you that one night, I was shocked. It kinda made me sad to see Kyle goodie two-shoes Broflovski be drunk off his ass and sleeping around with random men," he talks with his hands, motioning. "And then it REALLY made me sad to see all the self-inflicted scars on your body. But I still wanted to talk and hang out with you Kahl, because I knew that somewhere deep inside, underneath all the bullshit and baggage that you have held onto because of life getting in the way, you're still the same Jew I knew back then."

I force a smile. "You have a knack for saying the exact right thing these days, y'know."

"I see a lot of your old traits - the traits I remember," he continues. "When we first got reacquainted I thought everything about your old self was gone forever, but it's not. It's just... hidden. Perhaps it's like that for Ike, too. When people are hurt enough times, they put on masks to protect themselves."

"Yeah," I say softly, knowing he's right. Suddenly, I feel optimistic - much more so than I did before Cartman arrived. I just hope that I won't end up disappointed.

I'll be honest with Ike. I'll tell him about my experiences. I might not know exactly what he's going through, but I know what it's like to get hurt. I know what it's like to be sad. I know what it's like to be disappointed by the people in your life. I know what it's like to feel trapped and sick. I know what it's like to hate yourself and I know what it's like to want to die.

"Well," Cartman starts, breaking my train of thought. "I guess I should go back and try to get some sleep. I do need to finish packing my my myum's house tomorrow."

I nod. "I understand. Thanks for the coffee, Cartman, and thank you for stopping by."

He smiles, his big brown eyes looking more beautiful than ever before. "Anytime, Kahl."

.

.

"What do you think your brother will want to drink?"

"I don't know. Orange juice, maybe? He'll probably drink whatever."

I feel the florescent lights hit my eyes while I hear a couple of voices talk close to me.

"Mmm..." I moan as I stretch by arms.

"Kyle?" I hear a familiar voice from above say my name.

"Oh, Kyle is it?" A female voice says and then a face comes into view as she squats down to get closer to my eye level.

"My name is Candy, I'm Ike's nurse." Although I don't go for women anymore, she is definitely beautiful – dark brown hair with blonde highlights, a nice tan, and honey brown eyes. She extends her hand and smiles, revealing her perfect teeth.

"N-nice to meet you," I mumble. "Wait, Ike is up?"

"Yep." I hear a familiar voice to my left. I prop myself up and turn to see that Ike is sitting upright himself, with a tray of breakfast in front of him. He lightly smiles.

I force myself off the floor and – while careful not to hit or knock anything on his breakfast tray – I lean over and give him a big bear hug.

"How long have you been awake?" I ask while hugging him.

"Um... hm, a while," he says, sounding like he had to think about it for a moment.

I release him and watch his groggy movements. He looks pale, but he's awake and he smiled at me. That's something.

"Were you awake to hear any of the things I said to you?" I ask.

He doesn't respond. He just gives me an airy smile - one that says, "_You don't know me. I still have secrets."_

I hate that look.

When the nurse leaves us, I debate how to bring up what I want to say.

Is it too soon?

Should I wait?

If so, for how long?

I feel myself frown, unsure where to go from here.

"What is it, Kyle?" Ike asks calmly, not bothering to look at me. There's something mocking about his tone, like he finds the situation funny in a way. Or maybe it's just my confusion he finds funny.

"I'm... I'm just glad you're okay," I whisper.

"Hm," he murmurs to himself. "I'm not."

I wince, knowing what he's referring to. "I know," I say, "but I'm glad that you're alive."

"I'm not," he says again, this time with more anger and bitterness.

I remove the metal down on his side of the bed and side on the edge.

"Why haven't you called or texted me at all?" I ask.

"Funny," he says slowly. "I could ask you the same question."

I sigh. "I know I've failed you as your big brother, Ike."

He shrugs. "It's whatever."

"I just want things to change between us, like be closer like we used to be."

"Mmm," he mumbles, and I'm not really sure what that means.

"In fact, I think we have more in common than you know," I state.

He lightly raises a brow. "How so?" he asks.

"Your arm..." I start. My eyes lower to his left forearm. I gently touch the scabs with my right hand.

He flinches and moves his arm, as if it hurts to be touched there. "You're a cutter, Ike," I state gingerly.

"So, what?" he retorts harshly. "Don't fucking say it like that... I'm not some emo freak."

"I didn't say you were..." I let out a sigh, glancing at the door to make sure no one is about to step inside. Then I stand up. I roll my sleeves up, then I lift the hem of my shirt to show him some of my other scars – new and old. I quickly cover myself again and then tell him, "I'm just saying that I know what it's like."

He stares at me critically and I feel like he's burning holes through my body with his eyes. "Since when?" he pries.

"I was thirteen," I tell him.

"Why?" he asks tersely, like the whole thing is making him angry.

"Honestly, I'm not completely sure," I admit. "I guess I felt lonely, so I found ways to hurt myself, people to surround myself with... ways to numb it. Then I felt less lonely."

"But it doesn't last, does it?" Ike questions knowingly.

"No, it never does," I agree.

"So, what else do you do?" he pries. "Tell me some of your secrets, Kyle. Tell me the things you don't want me to know."

I hesitate, not really sure how comfortable I feel divulging more secrets. "Well, I've never really tried hard drugs like you have, but I do drink... A lot."

Ike's expression looks surprised. "Are you an alcoholic?"

I shake my head. "I don't think so. But maybe? Again, I really don't know. I could just be in denial."

"What else?" My little brothers says, expectedly.

"What else?" I ask, almost upset. I try to calm down. "What would you like to know Ike?"

He screws his mouth to one side, thinking. Then he smiles, in that _knowing_ way. "You're gay, aren't you, Kyle?" he says, smiling.

I breath out a heavy breath. "Yes, I'm gay Ike."

"I knew it!" He pipes up and this is the first time I've seen him smile a _real_ smile in the last 24 hours. It makes me smile as well. "When did you know?"

"I guess towards the end of college," I explain.

"You have a boyfriend?" he asks, his smiling broadening.

I shake my head. "No. Well, been on a couple dates with someone, but I wouldn't call that a relationship." I try to play it cool and keep it neutral, so he won't know that I'm talking about someone we both know.

"You know I don't give a fuck," he reassures me.

"Thanks," I murmur. "He's... I don't know. He's just nice."

"And you're not used to that?" Ike guesses.

"Not really," I admit. "I have a bad track record."

I've probably fucked and been fucked by over a hundred different guys. Most of them were assholes, but I didn't really care because I was getting what I wanted in most cases.

"Me, too," Ike snorts.

"Cartman would probably call me an alcoholic," I say as an afterthought, accidentally letting his name slip out.

"Cartman? What else would he say about you?" Ike wonders.

"He'd probably tell me I'm too smart for my own good," I start. "He'd probably tell me I'm too hard on myself, that I have too much self-blame and guilt... that I have too many harmful hobbies, bad habits, poor ways of coping. He'd say I need therapy to deal with my mood swings."

Ike looks mildly humoured. "It seems like he knows you well."

"Sometimes it's like he knows me better than I know myself," I chuckle. "I think he just has a knack for reading people."

"You seem to like him a lot," Ike notes. "Funny... Cartman. I never would've expected it."

"Me, neither," I confess.

Funny how life goes.

"I'm not going to tell mom and dad, so don't worry," he reassures me again, as if he can read my mind.

Funnier, I think Ike and Cartman are the only two people who seem to have that ability.

"I appreciate it," I respond. "So, what about you? Why do you cut?" I ask.

The raven-haired boy shrugs. "Don't know really. I mean, sometimes just out of frustration when I run out of roxies, yah know?"

I nod, not completely understanding his sentiment. But I get doing it out of total frustration and not knowing what else to do. "I wish you would stop."

"I wish YOU would stop," he retorts. I realized that me getting onto him is definitely the pot calling the kettle black.

"So," I start. "You really tried to kill yourself yesterday, didn't know?"

"I did," he whispers, looking at me straight in my eyes.

"I know mom and dad are looking into rehab places," I say. "Will you actually try this time to get better?"

"I don't know," he confesses.

"Will you try?"

"Maybe," he murmurs.

"Maybe?"

"Yeah, maybe. We'll see."

I can tell I'm not going to get any less-than-vague answers out of him today. And I guess that's fine.

"All right," I relent easily. "I know it can be hard."

"How about..." he starts in the same, soft murmur, "I try if you try."

"Sounds like a challenge," I say, forcing a smile even though I still feel like crying. "All right, let's do

it."

.

.

It was around noon when my parents came to trade off. My mom drove and essentially she came to drop off my dad and to pick me up. Of course, they were emotional, not bothering to hide their tears as they hugged and cried in front of Ike. I could tell Ike didn't want to deal with it, nor did he want to answer any of their questions. The doctor came in with the nurse Candy and announced that he needs to stay for a least the remainder of the day. Also, they all agreed on a good rehab for Ike to immediately move into after he is discharged. Just like everything else, my little brother begrudgingly agreed with this.

Now I feel myself having a hard time fighting sleep, sitting in the passenger's side riding back to my parents' house in their car. I'm pretty sure I would fall asleep right now if it's weren't for my mom's gregarious ways. She's trying to be optimistic, but I can tell she's worried. Mainly, she's talking about the rehab, saying, "I think this will be a good place for Ike," and "it has a lot of good reviews online."

I half-awakenly chime along, agreeing.

"So what did you and your brother talk about last night?" she eventually asks.

"He didn't wake up yesterday," I answer. "But we talked some this morning."

"Oh yeah, shnookems?" I hate it when she calls me those lame-ass nicknames. "What about?"

I shrug. "His depression. Life. Why things can't be the way they used to be."

She's quiet for a minute, keeping her eyes on the road. I think the last part of what I said has her thinking. "Sounds like you two had an important talk," she finally says.

"Yeah," I murmur.

"Will you be around much?" she questions.

I can tell she wants me to be. She wants me to be around for Ike, but her and my father probably miss me, too. I'm their son, after all. Me and Ike both are and I know this can't be easy on them, either.

At least they don't have to know about what I get up to. They don't need to have more shit to stress over.

Ike knows now. It felt good to be honest with him. I felt like we connected. I hope he felt that way, too.

"Yeah, Mom," I respond. "I'll be around. I'll visit Ike, too."

She smiles at that, giving me a quick glance before returning her gaze to the road. "I'm glad to hear that."

.

.

My mom drops me off at my apartment and as soon as I get in, I walk to my room and flop on my bed. God, I'm tired. I'm almost too tired to notice my phone vibrating with a text message. It's Cartman.

CARTMAN: Hey, how are you Jew? 

ME: Good. Just got home. 

CARTMAN: How's Ike? 

ME: Better. My dad's with him now. He's going to stay there another day but then he's going to start rehab tomorrow. 

CARTMAN: That's good.

I set my phone aside, kicking off my pants and removing my shirt. I place my hand on my stomach, touching the rough skin before staring down at all the marks.

I wonder how long they'd take to disappear if I stopped. Probably many long years, if ever.

My phone beeps again a second later.

CARTMAN: How do you feel?

I roll my eyes and then I tell him that I feel like shit. No point in sugar coating it. He'd just accuse me of lying anyway.

A few minutes later, I hear a knock at my door. Hesitantly, I stand up and move to answer it. I look through the peep hole and see that it's Cartman. I open the door and then stand here in my shorts before self-consciously wrapping my arms around myself, trying to hide what I can even though it's in vain.

"You don't have to do that," he says to me.

I let out a laugh that sounds like a sob. "I feel like I do." I turn around and he follows me into my bedroom. I let myself relax when we're in the dim light of my room. I sit on my bed, up against my headboard. He sits near the bottom.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

"No," I murmur. "Why are you here?"

"I didn't want you to do anything stupid," he admits. "I didn't want you to hurt yourself."

"So, distract me," I challenge.

"How?"

"You can fuck me if you want."

He glances away, letting out a sharp breath. "No, I don't want to like this. You're tired and upset."

I scoff at him. "C'mooooooon," I urge, crawling closer to him. "You were so sweet to me last night, bringing me that fancy coffee drink you made. I want to repay you," I reach up, grabbing his shoulder.

Cartman pushes my hand away. "If we're going to fool around, the first time we do that is not being you're upset and you're looking for a _distraction_, like you said."

"What's the problem?" I ask, kinda getting pissed off. "We've been on a few dates and all we can do it make out? You trying to wait for marriage or something?"

"No, KAHL," he hisses my name, showing that he's getting irritated too. "But I'm trying to do things right here. If we rush into things or sleep together when you already have a ton of shit going on, what good will that do?"

I shrug, half-listening. "I don't know Cartman, but I guess we won't know until we try, now will we?" I wrap my arms around him from behind. I bury my nose in his neck and his college smells amazing. I also squeeze and cop a feel of chest, which is firm and feels very sexy.

Then, I feel my arms being thrown to my sides while the brunet gets up.

"I'm not fucking with you, Kahl," he says, standing in front of me and facing me. "I'll talk to you later," is all he says while he heads for the door.

I quickly follow him. "Why are you being such a dick?"

"Because you don't listen, Jew! You've never been able to listen!"

I stare at him, hurt. I don't know how things turned so bad so quickly between us but I'm in disbelief.

"Look," he says, lowering his voice. "You say you feel horrible all the time, right?"

I nod. Even pissed off, there's no point in lying to him. He practically knows all of my and my family's secrets.

"Then maybe, JUST maybe if you want things to change," his voice gets higher on the last word, "you should try doing things differently."

"Different how?" I ask stupidly.

"Don't do the things you usually do," he starts. "Look at things with a little hindsight instead of just jumping into every situation. Now, listen... I want to take things slow with you because I see potential. What would happen if we just jumped right into things?"

"I don't know," I murmur.

He lets out a sigh. "I want to get to know you. I know there are probably things you still haven't told me. I want you to trust me completely before we do anything more."

I grit my teeth, pushing aside the urge to snap at him. So, instead, I say, "Don't leave. I'll be mad if you do."

He stares at me for a moment, contemplating before finally relenting. "Fine, but I'm taking the sofa."

"No, stay in my room with me," I insist. "I swear I won't try anything. I'll just sleep."

He looks hesitant, but he agrees nonetheless. "All right... but if you do try anything, I'll leave."

"I'll be good," I promise. "Just... just stick around."

He softens. "Fine."

So, the two of us return to my room. I lie down and he sits with me. We're both quiet, but I can tell he's staring at me. He's probably thinking things, trying to come up with some way to help me, even though he knows it's not possible.

.

.

I feel pretty groggy when I wake up, but I slowly stretch my limbs and yawn, realizing that it must be sometime in the afternoon. Or is it?

I glance at the clock on my in-table. 6:22. Shit! How did I sleep so late?

Then something strikes me –

He's not here.

"Cartman?" I ask, sitting in an upward position. I stand up and stalk over to the dresser, where my cellphone is. I notice a long text from Fatass.

CARTMAN: Hey Jew. You passed out really hard and I had to go get some stuff down. Hope you slept well.

_Hope you slept well?!_

What is that supposed to mean? I told him not to leave! Does he want to get away from me? Is he looking for a way out?

I grit my teeth, throwing my phone against the wall and moving into the bathroom.

How the hell should I even respond to a message like that? It seems to fucking unceremonious. Of course I didn't sleep well! How the hell could I possibly sleep well after the night I've had?

But I guess I should have expected this. I told him he could leave. I just wish he would have stayed and read between the lines, realizing I didn't want him to go. It's always hard waking up alone when you spent the night with someone you care about.

I take a shower, washing and rinsing and then drying off.

Once I'm dressed, I sit on my bed, not sure what to do now. I grab my cellphone and see that no one has texted me while I was in the shower, including Cartman. It's kinda funny, I constantly check my cell phone. In fact I'm kinda obsessive about it. I guess, as much as I hate people, I want someone to give a damn, although I'd never admit it aloud. Oh well.

Then I think about my brother. Ike... I wonder how he is? I think my dad's still there watching him. I bet my mom is sad and alone. Without thinking, I instantly dial her number. This feels so weird, since I'm used to just texting her.

"_Hello_?" she answers sweetly.

"Hey, mom?"

"_Yes, sweetie_?"

"How are you?" I ask softly.

She hesitates and I hear her let out a soft sigh before saying, "_I'm all right, Kyle. This is just... a lot to handle."_

"I know," I murmur.

"_Why don't you come by the house?"_ she asks. "_Me and your father have been coming back and forth from the hospital, but I'm home now."_

She probably doesn't want to be alone. So, I say, "Sure, Mom. I'll swing by in a bit."

With that, I hang up my phone. I grab something to eat and leave my apartment, making my way outside. I take the long way to my parents' house, musing the entire way over. When I'm standing in front of my family home, I raise my hand to knock before letting myself in.

"Mom!" I call as I swing open the door. I'm immediately greeted with a sweet scent and a split second later my mom appears from the kitchen.

"Hi, sweetie," she says, wiping her hands on her apron. She bakes when she's stressed out. She's probably going to be baking a lot lately. "Would you like some apple pie?" she offers. "I'm almost done with it."

I smile lightly, not even bothering to ask why. "Sure, I'll take some."

"But first, have you eaten dinner yet Kyle?" she asks as she takes my wrist and leads me into kitchen. I suppose either way, I'm about to eat something, hungry or not.

"No, not yet," I answer while I sit down at the kitchen table.

"Good!" she says. "I was just about to eat dinner myself."

I watch her hurry herself in the kitchen and it literally takes her less than 5 minutes to bring out roasted chicken, green peas, and sweet potatoes on the table. Everything smells amazing and I'm excited because I know it's going to taste amazing, too.

"So how was your day, Kyle?"

I shrug. "Okay, I guess. I took a long nap when I got home. I woke up like an hour ago."

"Poor baby, so tired," she says before cutting into her chicken. "I know you probably didn't get much sleep last night, Kyle. Your father and I really appreciate what you did. It gave us a chance to sleep."

"But did you really sleep?" I ask before eating some peas.

She softens before forcing a smile. "Not really," she admits, "but that's okay."

"Is it?" I wonder.

"Yes," she says. "Your brother is suffering. It's not really about me and your father right now."

"I suppose so," I relent quietly.

She puts her utensils down and stares at me. "Kyle, why do you hide away in your apartment all the time? You never come out."

"I don't know," I murmur. "I guess it's easier to just... not be a part of the world."

"Is that how you see it?"

"I guess."

She's frowning by now, looking piteous and guilty. "I'm sorry, Kyle. I'm sorry if me and your father ever made you feel like you were second."

"Don't be, Mom," I insist. "I understand."

She shakes her head. "You know how we constantly had to watch Ike to make sure he didn't do anything stupid," she says. "But we should've kept a better eye on you, too."

After chewing a large piece of my chicken and washing it down with my tea, I scrunch my face. "What do you mean?"

"Kyle," she softens her voice. "I know I don't see you as much as I would like, but even still, I'm still your mother. And I always know when something is wrong. Always."

I shake my head, dismissing what my mom is insinuating. I cut another piece of the chicken. "Nothing's wrong with me, mom." I say, keeping my eyes on the food. "I have a good job. I pay my bills. I'm doing well."

"But sweetie," she starts. "It's not good that you hide away from everyone, from the world. It's not normal." She emphasizes the world 'normal'.

"What's 'normal', mom?" I ask, catching a bit of anger in my voice.

"People need social contact," she says.

"Oh, trust me, I get plenty of it," I say with a callous laugh.

I think she understands what I'm hinting at because the pity in her expression only grows. "Kyle... that can't make you happy."

"It doesn't," I say unceremoniously, "but I've come to terms with that - I'm not happy. I doubt I'll ever be happy."

"So, you've settled?" she asks.

"I guess so."

She clicks her tongue. "Tsk... you can't settle, Kyle. If you do, then nothing changes."

"It's too hard to make changes," I tell her, growing tired. "Every time I think I'm headed somewhere, I end up either sabotaging myself or something goes wrong and it's out of my control."

"And you give up?"

"Yes, I give up," I murmur.

"Kyle, you can have anything that you put your mind to," she says. She moves some hair behind her left ear. "And honestly, sweetie, you deserve better."

I shrug. "It is what it is."

"Why do you do this?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Do what?"

"Treat yourself so badly, Kyle."

"Because..." I put my fork down. "I deserve it."

"Kyle, sweetie," my mom pleads as she reaches and grabs my right hand. "Don't say that," her voice cracks, and I can tell that she's choking up.

I feel my heart sink into my stomach. "I'm so sorry, Mom." I squeeze her hand. "I wish I could be that golden son for you. You know, married, with 2.5 kids and just all perfect and happy." The idea of being married to a women and having kids makes me feel sick, and I'm guessing that I'm showing my disgust on my face. "I mean, I would like that for you, at least," I add.

She just shakes her head. "It's not about impressing other people, Kyle. Do what makes you happy. You can't please everyone else... and for the record, you could never disappoint me. If you don't want children, that's okay. If you don't want to get married, that's okay. And... if you don't want to be with a woman, that is also okay."

I let out a breath, closing my eyes for a moment. "Thanks, Mom..."

"Sure, dear," she says, letting go of my hand. "Now... if you've been feeling this way for a long time, then I think you should seek professional help."

"Like Ike?" I ask with a snort. "Well, we all know how well that's been going..."

"You and Ike are two very different people with very different experiences," she points out. "It might benefit you in a way it hasn't benefited Ike. Please, give it a try. I can make the call for you, if you'd like."

Sighing to myself, I force a smile. "I can make the call, Mom."

"But will you?"

"Yes," I promise.

.

.

After dinner, I help my mom clean up and put the dishes in the dishwasher.

"Oh wait!" she says, before we put up our utensils. "I almost forgot about the apple pie! You have to have a slice!"

I sigh, smiling. "Mom, I'm really stuffed," I try to protest but I knew it's useless.

"No no no, Kyle! I know just how much you love apple pie! And besides, you could use a few more pounds!" She turns to the pie and slices it.

I relent and take my seat back at the table. I am finally old and wise enough to know now that there is really no point in arguing with a Jewish woman.

As expected, the apple pie is simply amazing. It really takes me back to happier, simpler times. Times when my mom would tell me in the afternoon that she was going to make apple pie for dessert and it was all I though about it until I finally got it. What I would give to live during those simpler days again. I savour each bite of the pie, wishing I could eat it every day.

"Yah know, Kyle," my mom starts after eating a bite of the pie. "I think therapy will be good for you.

Maybe you'll find out why you're depressed."

"Why I am depressed?" I ask.

"Why, certainly Kyle," she responds. "With Ike, at least we knew why he was so depressed."

Of course I know she's talking about the molestation.

"I know mom, but..." I trail off, not sure how to explain some of my innermost thoughts to my mom, who I have been so distant to in the recent years. "What if we don't really 'need' a reason to be sad, mom? What if some people are born sad?" I study her face and she looks confused. I continue anyways. "Have you ever thought that maybe, just maybe, some people are cursed mom? Do you think that maybe this family is cursed?"

She smiles piteously at me. "I don't think we're cursed, Kyle. I think, sometimes, that bad things just happen to good people and we have to take it as a lesson at best."

"Is that how you look at what happened to Ike?" I wonder.

"It's all I can do," she says. "For me and your father, it's a lesson of patience and understanding. For Ike..." she trails off.

"I don't know what kind of lesson it would be for him," I whisper.

She falters, shaking her head and for a few minutes it's quiet – uncomfortably so. "Um..." she starts again, "I raised you, Kyle. I gave birth to you and I raised you. I know you weren't always so sad. You were a happy child."

"I suppose so," I relent.

"Do you feel that we neglected you?" she pries and I can tell that she isn't going to let this go until I at least spill something and give her some sort of answer.

"I don't know, Mom," I mutter. "Maybe when I was younger I felt that way, but I don't know. I understand why it was important for you to always be concentrating on Ike."

"I'm so sorry, Kyle," she says sadly.

I shrug. "It's okay."

"I'm so sorry, Kyle," she repeats, but more emphatically.

"It's okay, Mom," I repeat. "I know."

"Do you really, Kyle?" she asks, pleading.

"Of course I do-"

"Because if I could take it all back- if I could do it all over again- I'm pretty sure... I KNOW that your father and I would do it over again," she explains.

"Don't beat yourself up, Mom," I say sadly.

I can feel myself getting emotional, but I'd rather not start bawling like a baby. I feel like I've been crying too much lately, but I suppose I have a reason for it. So much shit has been happening and it keeps piling up. I feel like I'll never be able to escape these feelings.

Then again, maybe this is why I need therapy. Everyone keeps telling me to go, so maybe I should really just do it.

I force a smile, but it falters.

"Don't do that," she whispers. "Don't... Don't pretend. You don't need to pretend when you're around me. I'm your mother."

"Sorry," I whisper back, letting out a shuddery breath.

If she were to roll up my sleeve she'd see how fucked in the head I am. I'm a self-harming sex addict who drinks too much... but I guess with all these distractions lately I haven't had time for cutting, sex with horrible men or drinking. My three favorite things. I can never say no.

"I promise," I start, as I reach out for her hand and squeeze it tight. "I'm going to make an appointment with someone tomorrow. I need to."

With that she gets up from her chair and engulfs me in a tight bear hug. I squeeze back tightly, fighting the urge to cry. I want to be strong for my mom, even if I'm a pathetic, screwed-up mess to everyone else.

.

.

When I finally leave and everything is dark except for the street lights, I pull out my phone, realizing I totally ignored it the whole time I was with my mom. I see a text from Cartman sent half an hour ago.

CARTMAN: Hey Jew, you okay? I just got back to the apartment.

I guess he DOES care. I start to text him back but instead just decide to call him.

"_Kahl_?" He answers on the second ring.

"Hey Cartman," I breathe out, a bit worn out from the walking.

_"Is everything okay_?" he asks, genuine concern in his voice.

"Yeah. I'm walking back from seeing my mom," I explain.

"_You just walked there_?" he asks. "_It's kinda far, Jew_."

"Eh, I don't know. I need the exercise, yah know. I need to work on having a great body like you," I chuckle, a bit surprised that I just said that.

I hear a small, embarrassed laugh on the other end and for a second he doesn't say anything. Maybe I really embarrassed him just now? It's actually kind of cute.

"_Well, umm, I was just worried because you never texted me back, Kahl_," he completely ignores my compliment which actually surprises me.

"Yeah, I'm sorry..." I breathe. Should I make something up about being busy? "I guess I was a bit pissed that you didn't stick around like I wanted you to," I say, a bit surprised at my new found honesty.

"_Oh_..." he says, sounding surprised. "_I wasn't sure if you actually wanted me to stick around._"

"Well, I just didn't want to get all clingy," I tell him.

"_I wouldn't mind,_" he admits. "_So, next time... just say the word._"

"I will," I vow, though only time will tell. "I guess sometimes I just feel like people should be able to know... even though it's stupid of me to expect that."

"_It's okay_," he promises.

"Is it?" I wonder.

"_Yeah, it's okay_," he insists.

I feel my lips quirk upward slightly and I smile to myself. "All right, then." I pause as I turn into the parking lot of our apartment complex. "Well, I'm almost home now," I add. "I'm just entering the building."

"_You want to come over?"_ he asks.

"Sure," I respond. "Let me take a shower first."

_"No problem, Kahl."_

Once I get in, I rush to take a shower. Towel around my waist, I debate what I should wear. I think Cartman really likes my eyes, so I choose an emerald green hoodie and jeans with a hole in the left knee. I put very little product in my hair and go for a messy, curly hair look. I spray on some cologne, grab my phone and wallet, and head over.

Knock, knock, knock.

"Hi, Kahl," Cartman greets me.

"Hi, fatass." I smile genuinely, stepping inside.

"Ay, I'm not fat anymore, Jew!" He closes the door behind me.

"Sorry, habit," I say, still smiling.

I watch my brunette friend walk to the kitchen to fetch both me and him a glass of water. "Everything went well with your myum, I take it?" he asks over his shoulder.

I head to his couch. "For the most part, yes."

Cartman sits on the couch next to me and places both of our glasses on place mats on the coffee table in front of us.

"For the most part?" he asks.

I shrug. "Some of it was kinda hard."

"What parts?" he pries.

"Just... talking about some stuff I wasn't really up for talking about," I say vaguely.

He nods his head slowly and I can tell he's urging me to continue.

"Like, me," I tell him. "She wanted to talk a little about me... which, honestly, I'm not really used to.

She thinks I should help some sort of professional help."

"You should," Cartman says.

I scoff and roll my eyes. "Yes, I know that... but saying I need help and actually getting help are two totally different things."

He shrugs. "At least you're admitting it. That's always the first step."

"I guess," I agree. I stare down into my cup of water, taking one more sip before setting it on the coffee table. I glance back up and look at Cartman. I want him to fuck me senseless, but I know he doesn't want to rush things. I don't understand why. I've never been with a man who wanted to take it slow.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks, trying to read me.

I wrinkle my nose and shrug. "Nothing, really."

He gives me a critical look. "Liar."

I chuckle faintly and then admit, "Okay, I'm thinking about sex. I want to have sex."

"Not yet," he says without an ounce of contemplation.

"Why?" I practically whine.

"Because I want to wait and I want you to wait," he says. "You probably still think I'm going to fuck you and chuck you, but I'm not. I want to prove that I'm good enough."

"You are good enough," I insist. "Am I good enough?"

He smirks. "I think so."

"Then what's the problem?" I ask and laugh at the same time, although I am completely serious.

"I just told you what the problem is, Jew."

"Yeah yeah yeah, you want me to know that you care and you want us to really take our TIME to get to KNOW each other," I say sarcastically, rolling my eyes.

"That's right," he responds seriously.

"Fine, Cartman," I say. "What would you like to know?"

"The hell are you talking about Jew?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Go ahead. Ask me anything."

The brunette shakes his head and sighs. "It doesn't work like that, Kahl."

"Okay, then I'll ask questions." I decide "What's your favorite color?"

"I don't know... Red?!" he answers begrudgingly.

"Favorite animal?"

"Kittehs, of course."

"Favorite food?"

With that question, he seriously contemplates before responding.

"That's right, you like everything!" I answer, smiling radiantly.

"Piece of shit Jew!" he yells, suppressing a chuckle and commences to tickle my side. I laugh wildly and immediately try to remove his hands but he reaches again. I protest, wrapping my arms around my sides tightly.

When he finally relents I let out a string of heavy breaths and stare at him angrily. "I hate being tickled!"

He smiles faintly. "I guess I just learned something new, then!"

I roll my eyes at that and straighten up. "Okay, moving on."

"So, are you going to get professional help?"

"I told my mom I would," I admit, "So, I guess I need to make an appointment."

"Do it tomorrow," Cartman says.

"I'll try," I tell him.

And I will. I'll try, but trying is all I can do. Sometimes things are too difficult. Sometimes I'm too difficult. I'm a stubborn person when it comes down to it. Then again, I can also be incredibly permissive. I guess it's all situational. I like to pretend there's nothing wrong with me, but I guess I can't really keep pretending it when everyone is constantly reminding me.

"Hey, why do you look so down?" he asks me, snapping me from my thoughts. "Worry about that tomorrow. Tonight, let's just relax."

"Relax how?" I ask, emotionally wiped.

Before I know it, Cartman's lips are on mine. While it's a soft kiss at first, it's not long before both of us open our mouths and our tongues gently intertwine. His strong arms wrap around me and I wrap mine behind his head. Before I know it, I'm being picked up and lifted off the couch. I do my best to continue kissing him, despite my hold behind his head tightening. While he carries me, it's swift and smooth and I hardly can tell that he's walking. Maybe I'm just too thin and I weigh nothing to him?

He very softly lays me down in the very middle of his bed. He breaks the kiss and stands up, looking down at me, smiling.

"What?" I ask, curious what he's smiling at. Also, I can't help but feel a bit self-conscious.

"Nothing," he says, still smiling. "Maybe I like looking at you, Jew."

"You know... no one has really said that to me before," I admit to him.

"That's because you surround yourself with assholes," he says.

"You're a bit of an asshole," I remind him.

He chortles at that, wholeheartedly unable to deny it because we both know it's true. "Yeah, but maybe I'm the right kind of asshole."

I laugh at that. "Yeah, maybe."

Maybe he's right for me.

I grab a fistful of his shirt, pulling him closer and pushing my lips against his once more. I close my eyes and let him take control as I wonder where this is going to lead.

We kiss passionately yet sensually, not too fast and not too slow. I feel him run his hand through my hair and I dig my fingernails into his back. He slowly moves away from my lips and kisses my cheek softly, then moves down to my neck. His tongue and lips caressing my skin feels like ecstasy, making me completely lost in the moment.

"Oh God..." I moan, not even realizing it as the words escape my lips. Next thing I know, I feel Cartman's hand underneath my shirt, on my stomach. Damn!

I go ahead and take my shirt off. I don't know why I do that so easily, as I know that my skinny body doesn't compare to his. Honestly, maybe I'm just eager to take my shirt off so that he'll do the same.

And he does.

I have to fight the urge to start drooling. He chuckles, reading my reaction. "Like what you see?"

"Yeah," I say.

"Well, I like what I see, too," he responds easily.

It makes me feel good because, honestly, I don't get many compliments on my body. I'm small and scarred and I don't think I'm anything special, especially compared to someone who looks as good as Cartman.

"How far are we going to go?" I ask him.

"Not far," he says.

"You said you wanted to take it slow, but..." I trail off, trying to tell him that what we're doing ISN'T taking it slow.

He doesn't respond. Instead, he leans forward and pecks me on the lips once, twice and then a third time before reaching for the button on my jeans. I lean back, letting him take control of the situation.

I hear him toss my jeans on the floor as I lay there in my boxers, waiting for him to kiss me again, or at least touch me somehow. After I feel no contact for a minute, I open my eyes, wondering what's going on. There he is, standing over me, eyeing me up and down. But this is completely different from just a couple of moments earlier, since I am almost naked now.

"Don't DO that!" I say as I wrap my arms around my chest and stomach.

"It's like I said, Kahl," he breathes softly. "I like looking at you."

"But why?" I ask. I look down and try to cover up one particularly deep gash on my stomach. I remember this scar was right at the end of my last relationship, when he dumped me out of the blue. I almost had to get stitches that night, it was so deep and it felt like it would never stop bleeding.

Cartman slowly gets back on top of me and he grabs my hands and lifts them above my head as he lays down on me. He kisses me softly and, in a raspy voice, says, "Because you're beautiful."

Instead of kissing me again, he looks in my eyes, making sure that I'm hearing him. His eyes are sincere and filled with compassion, accompanied with a light smile on his lips. I try to protest, but feel something in my throat. Somehow, I'm overwhelmed with emotion. I don't know what to say or how to act. Out of nowhere, I feel a tear fall from my right cheek.

"God, shut up..." I mumble, feeling defensive and vulnerable and shy.

He only continues to smile and I let out a laugh that sounds like a sob. "You deserve to hear it," he whispers. "I'll keep saying it until you start believing it... and even after."

He gives me another chaste peck on the lips.

It feels strange. Like a dream.

I've never been with a man who valued me for being me. I've never been with a man who cared about my well-being. I've never been with a man who gave me compliments that meant something. I've never been with a man like Eric Cartman.

I'm so emotional lately and he's only making me even more so... but not in a bad way. He has a knack for saying the right thing.

I know that I'm emotional because deep down I feel like I don't deserve any of this. Deep down, I really don't know what to do with someone who genuinely cares about me and accepts me. In fact,

I'm so overwhelmed with gratitude that I don't know how to show it.

"Thank you," my voice barely cracks out.

"You're welcome," he says with another peck. "You deserve it." Cartman leans in for another long, deep kiss. He kisses my forehead and then maneuvers to my right. He lies down on his back and wraps his arm around me as I nuzzle into his chest. Damn, he has a nice, built chest. I can't help my gently let my hands explore it, feeling the thick muscle. His nipples are perky, which I enjoy touching. I let my hand travel lower to his washboard abs. Who would've known that the overweight pain-in-the-ass bully would grow up to look like a HQ model?

My childhood friend takes a deep breath and squeezes me tightly. For whatever reason, I feel comfortable not saying anything. So comfortable that I slowly lose consciousness as I drift off to sleep, enjoying the heavenly scent and touch of Cartman all around me.


	8. Chapter 8

**Eric****'****s POV**

I stretch my limbs, and feel my hand touching a matted mop of hair. I look over my side and see the familiar curly, red hair. I look around and quickly remember what happened last night. I feel a bit strange, and I realize that I did fall asleep in my jeans last night. I look over my shoulder again, and chuckle a bit to myself at the irony of the whole situation. Here I am, laying shirtless with the Jew.

I want to go back to sleep, but I know how behind I am with getting the house ready. I made some progress last night, but it was hard to get much done with I knew I needed to check on Kyle. I love making my special version of frappacinos, and I thought he might like trying it, too. I'm glad that he did.

I get out of bed and make breakfast. The time on the oven reads 8:14. I bet the Jew is exhausted. I think I'll go ahead and go to the gym and get it over with while he's still sleeping.

It probably wasn't quite the hook up he was searching for, but I meant it when I said I wanted to take things slow. I want to prove myself to him. I want him to know that I see potential in this relationship... or whatever it is. I guess we technically haven't discussed labels yet. I'm somewhat surprised he hasn't brought it up yet. Then again, maybe the potential of it makes him nervous. I know his past relationships have been shitty.

We'll talk about it when the time comes.

I ditch yesterday's clothes to throw on sweatpants and a t-shirt. After readying myself, I leave a note for the Jew since I don't want to wake him and then I head out. If I'm lucky, I'll make it back before Kyle even wakes up.

Car keys in hand, I head to out and get in my car. The drive is pretty short, since everything in South Park is pretty close together. When I arrive, I head for the elliptical machines first. I pop in my earbuds and put on something upbeat to get me in the mood to work out.

.

.

My workout was fine, as usual. I decide to go head back ASAP and shower at my place. Once I'm there, I quietly open the door to my room and see the Jew is still fast asleep.

Good.

I jump in the shower and get out with a towel wrapped around my waist. There's a certain t-shirt in my dresser that I was thinking about wearing today, so I'm looking for it now. I'm not the most organized guy in the world, so it's taking me a minute since I never bother to fold any of my damn clothes.

"M-mmmm..."

I hear a groggy moan behind me.

I turn around and see the Jew ran a hand through his messy Jew-fro.

"C-Cartman...?"

He sits up, rubbing his bleary-eyes and staring at me. "Did you just shower?"

"Yeah, hey," I say. "Good morning. Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up."

"You didn't," he promises, still watching me. He gives me a lewd smile and then wiggles his eyebrows at me. It reminds me of the way Kenny used to act and I can't help but chuckle. "So," he starts again, "I should probably head out, huh?"

"I won't kick you out," I say, "but I've got a few things I need to do. I'll call you later, though."

"Really?" he asks.

"Yeah, of course," I say surely. "But do you know what I think you should do today?"

"Make that appointment?" he ventures.

I nod my head at him. "Exactly."

He lets out a loud, whiny sigh and stares down at his hands. "Fine."

He stretches and slowly gets out of bed and searches for his clothes that were tossed by the bed last night. Once he's dressed, I walk him to the door and kiss him goodbye. Fucking Jew better make an appointment today, or else I will seriously reconsider our "relationship" or whatever. I can't help somebody who can't help themselves.

.

.

Once I'm dressed and I snack on something- as well as bringing a few snacks with me- I head back to my old house. Almost done with this place... Finally.

All that's left is myum's room. I bring a bunch of empty boxes and get started. Lots of perfume, lots of clothes, and a shit-ton of shoes, not to mention purses. She spent so much money on designer purses and I never understood it. I'll probably donate a good bit of this shit to Goodwill.

I may as well. I have no use for any of it. My cross-dressing days are long over.

I get to work and try to power through. By the time I'm finished, it's early in the evening. I pack up the remaining boxes into my car and then drive back to my apartment.

I leave the boxes in the car for now. I'll drop them off somewhere tomorrow.

I head inside and decide to make myself something to eat. I rummage through the fridge and get out a few ingredients to make a sandwich. Simple and easy.

After eating, I decide to call Kyle, but I don't. Instead, I just head next door. I knock before simply letting myself in.

"Kyle?!" I call.

Nothing.

"Kahl!" I yell again, closing the door behind me.

I hear some movement coming from his bedroom and I can't tell if it's the movements of Kyle or Kyle and someone else. My heart sinks and I feel sick. If it IS someone else in there, I'm going to be really fucking pissed.

"Kahl?" I decide to open his bedroom door. I see the Jew in silky emerald PJ's and his hair is wet. He's flossing his teeth.

"Oh, hi," he turns around from the full body mirror, pulling the dental floss out of his mouth. "Please, make yourself at home," he chuckles facetiously.

"WhatEVER, Kahl," I wave my hand. "I'm not the asshole leaving my front door unlocked."

"Yeah, yeah," he shakes it off. "What's going on Fatass?"

"Ay! I'm not-"

"I mean, what's going on, Eric?" He corrects himself.

The way he says my name sounds soft and I catch myself before I say anything. Did he really just call me by my first name?

"W... What did you just call me, Jew?"

"That's your name, isn't it?" He nonchalantly goes back to flossing. He walks back into the bathroom and disposes of the floss. I stand there, not sure what to think.

Eric... It sounds so beautiful when he says it.

What am I thinking?! Now I'm acting gay.

I let out a sigh and then just decide to shrug things off. "Yeah, whatever."

He raises an eyebrow at me, but doesn't pry. "Get some work done?"

"Yeah," I say.

He drops the floss in the garbage and then says, "That's good. What's up?"

I shrug. "Just thought I'd drop by."

He smiles at that. "All right. What do you feel like doing?"

I shrug again. "Whatever."

I can feel myself growing possessive over him and we haven't even really discussed what our relationship is.

"Something on your mind?" he pries.

"Not really," I insist.

I don't want to act all clingy and shit. I want him to be the one to start that conversation. I don't want to make the first move… but then again, maybe he wants me to.

He nods for me to follow him into the kitchen. Inside, he opens the fridge and asks, "Want anything?"

"Water is fine," I say.

So, he gets me a glass before getting himself one and then we turn into the living room.

"Did you make your appointment?" I ask.

He looks sheepish. "No…"

I let out an impatient sigh. "Want me to do it for you?"

"No," he says in a mumble.

"Will you do it?"

"Eventually…"

I let out another impatient sigh. "Kyle, come on… Don't you want to know why you're always feeling so messed up?"

He purses his lips and glances down at the cup in his hands. "Honestly, I don't even know if I want to find out. I know it'll make things easier, but… I'm hesitant. What if it's something really bad?"

"Then you'll work on fixing it," I say simply, though it's not so simple.

"I want you to make an appointment tomorrow, Kahl," I say in an authoritative tone.

"I will," he answers seriously. "I promise this time."

"After all," I start. "I can't be getting serious with someone who's not bettering themselves,"

Oh shit. Did I just say that?

The Jew's eyes widen. "We're getting serious?" he asks, his face completely solemn.

"What I meant was," I stumble, searching for the words. "Like, seriously dating. Yah know."

Shit. I really fucked up.

"I do want to better myself, Cartman, and I will."

I'm a bit disappointed, hearing him go back to using my last name and not my first name.

"'Kay, Jew," I say. "Just making sure."

"But is that what this is?" he asks and he motions his hands when he says 'this'.

"What _what_ is?" I ask.

"Us!" he says, a bit frustrated. Then I watch him turn red. "I mean, whatever it is that 'we' are."

"What do you want us to be?" I question. "Be honest."

"Well… I want us to be exclusive," he mumbles, flushing even deeper.

I feel satisfied with that. "Then, Kahl, do me the honour of being my boyfriend or whatever?"

"Romance me with small talk," he snorts. "But okay."

I smile, humoured. "Then I guess that takes care of that."

He leans forward, pecking me on the lips. When he draws back, he's smiling, too. I guess he feels as good about this as I do. Hopefully he'll continue to take it seriously. I want to be with him, but I won't be able to if he doesn't take his problems seriously. And there's still this nagging feeling I keep getting, something that's causing me to worry about him cheating on me. I don't know what the fuck I'd do if he did a thing like that. I think I'd need to know why he felt the need to cheat, then we'd go from there.

"Eric?" he says my first name.

"Hm?"

"What are you thinking about?"

"Nothin'," I insist.

"Liar," he accuses with a warm smile on his face.

"It's stupid really," I try to persuade him to change the subject, but now I know that I'm failing like a certified dumbass.

"C'mooooooon," he nudges. He decides to poke me in the side and I jump, embarrassed that I'm fairly ticklish. I try to get him back but again, he crosses his arm, making it hard for me to have access to his side.

"Okay, Jew, Christ!" I say, laughing. "I was just thinking, it's been a while since my last... Relationship." It feels weird, saying that word.

"Oh yeah?" The redhead seems interested. "How long?"

I screw my face, trying to recall exactly when the last relationship ended. "A little over a year, I think."

"I guess that is a while," he says. "But I think it's been longer for me,"

"But you've had all those suitors," I smile. He does _not_ crack a smile.

"But all of them were for getting my _fix_. None of them meant anything to me, you know that."

I nod, trying to understand. Still, a part of me feels disgusted when I even try to venture a guess into how many random guys he's fucked within, say, the last year. So, I decide to ask, even though I'll probably regret it. "How many were there?" I pry.

He wrinkles his nose. "Honestly, I can't even count them."

"Shit," I murmur. "How do you feel about it?"

"Bad," he admits. "I mean, I pretend not to… but there's nothing gratifying about letting everyone in. It's like I don't even know how to say no sometimes."

"People probably know that and take advantage of you," I point out.

"Probably," he agrees, letting out a breath, "but sometimes it feels like I NEED sex. Like, if I don't have sex it's all I'll think about until I finally have an orgasm. Then I can do other things, but the feeling eventually comes back and it's like this vicious cycle. Sex, work, sex, work…"

"Yeah," I murmur. "That's hypersexuality."

"Hm," he muses. "I guess I can't cry about it, though. I'm the one who can't say no."

I roll my eyes at him. "You can't blame yourself…"

But, honestly, I don't know how his encounters go. I don't know if he can say he was assaulted. Even if he could, I don't think he wants to. It's probably easier that way. It's easier for him to believe that it was all okay, even if he feels like total garbage.

"Have you been tested?" I realize the words are out of mouth before I thoroughly thought it through. I am concerned about myself, but I don't want to come of judgey.

"Not recently," the redhead says, sulking. "I know, I need to." He finishes my thoughts before I can.

"I'll go with you, if you want," I offer. "It's coming up on a year for me too."

Am I being too overbearing? I want him to know that I'm with him on this and that he's not alone, but I don't want him to think that I'm being his babysitter or guardian. Really, I just want to be a positive influence for the Jew. That's all.

The redhead's eyes widen, someone shocked. "Really? You would do that?"

I nod. "Sure. It's not that big of a deal, Kahl."

Kyle pulls on his left sleeve. "I mean, I know you're busy with trying to sell the house and everything..."

"Well, this stuff is important, too," I reason simply.

"I doubt I have anything," Kyle murmurs, "but I guess I can't be sure. Sometimes the symptoms don't show."

"True," I say. "Have you ever had anything?" I vaguely remember him mentioning he did a while back, but I didn't urge for more details.

He shifts uncomfortably. "Well… yeah, but it's gone now…"

"Okay," I respond, choosing not to pry. Clearly it's touchy for him, though I'm not judging him for it. "So, you have a couple things that need to be taken care of."

"Yeah," he sighs. "The appointment and this."

I nod my head. "Don't stress out, though."

He smiles faintly. "Easy for you to say."

And I guess he's right. Kyle's experiences and my experiences are both wholeheartedly separate and uniquely different.

"Tell you what," I start. "Why don't we just put everything on the shelf for now for tonight and enjoy ourselves, and then tomorrow you make two appointments? One for a counsellor and the other for the doctor. You need to make it as soon as possible so I can also make an appointment around the same time as you do." The redhead winces, and I don't back down. "I'm holding you to it this time, Kahl."

"Okay," he says, but he doesn't look excited. He leans forwards and drinks his water.

"Besides, you've been putting off the counsellor for far too long," I add.

"Yeah, I know." He sighs. "I guess I want to deny the fact that I'm crazy. But it's pretty fucking obvious I am. I just don't want to do all this. I don't want to face my fears and be responsible."

"Hey," I say softly and I grab his left hand. "You're not alone. I'm here no matter what."

Shit, did I just say that? Or better yet, do I really mean that? Am I ready to be with him no matter what he has, physically or mentally?


	9. Chapter 9

**Kyle's POV**

The following day, Cartman bums around with me as I call the mental health center to make my appointment. The soonest available time is a month away, which is shitty and okay at the same time. At least it gives me time to emotionally prepare myself. I make another appointment for my family clinician, which is next week and a hell of a lot sooner.

"You better not chicken out," Cartman says when I hang up.

"I won't," I promise him.

"Want me to drive you there?" he offers. "I'll pick you up, too."

"Hah, sure..." I say, forcing a weary smile. "Thanks."

"Don't stress out about it," he says. "These appointments are hardly as scary as they seem."

I wrinkly my nose and shrug, relenting. "I'll try not to think about it until it's actually happening."

"How's the house-selling-situation going?" I ask, not really knowing how to word it.

He shrugs. "It's going. Basically, it's in the realtor's hands now. She calls me whenever someone shows interest. In the meantime, I have moved all of my mom's shit into a storage unit. I don't know what I'm going to do with. Probably donate it."

"That's good," I say. "As long as you save room on the passenger's side, I'll help you pack up and unload everything."

The brunet shoots me a skeptical look. "Kahl, I don't think you realize just how much shit there is. My myum really loved to shop."

"It doesn't matter," I say. "Maybe I don't work out like you do, but I want to help. And besides, when I really want to, I can keep up." I giggle and nudge my counterpart with my elbow. He rolls his eyes, getting my dirty joke.

"All right, then," he relents. "Deal."

I give him a satisfied grin. "So, what's on the plate for today?"

"Well, whatever you want," he says.

I wrinkle my nose. "I'm bad at deciding stuff..."

"Then this'll be good practise," he insists.

I scoff at that and bite my lip, thinking to myself. I don't know what I want to do, though. I kind of just want to get drunk and screw around, but I don't think Cartman would like the sound of that.

I sit there on the couch, arms crossed, thinking of ideas for things we can do today.

"Maybe we ca-"

Before I know it, my sentence is muffled when Cartman's lips are pressed on mine. While I'm pleasantly surprised, I respond quickly and open my mouth so that our tongues can dance. I feel his arms wrap around me strongly, as he pulls me closer to him. He lies down on his back while I lay on top of him.

"I mean," I start. "We can do this, too."

He smiles briefly and then we reconnect. I want to just go all the way already, but I know he wants to take his sweet damn time so I know that he's not going to run off after I let him stick it to me.

"Cartman?" I say his name when we part.

"Say my first name."

"Eric?"

"Yeah," he says. "I like the way it sounds when you say it."

"What now?" I ask.

"What do you want to happen?" he answers my question with another question.

"Um…" I pause, feeling self-conscious because I've never really had to say it like this before. It makes me feel a bit shy and young, though I'm neither. "What do I WANT to happen?" I ask the question again, making sure that he really wants to ask me that. He nods his head. "I want us to make love."

He looks at me, slightly embarrassed, but I can tell he's not surprised. He leans over, kisses my forehead lightly, and says, "Contain yourself, Kahl." He gets up and walks to the kitchen.

"What the literal fuck, dude?!" I lament. "You wanted me to honest, right?"

"Which you are being, which I appreciate," he says as he pours himself a glass of water.

I sigh, feeling sorry for myself. "Look Cartman. I don't mean to be pushy and to pressure you, but when's it going to happen?!"

The brunet shrugs, carrying his glass of water when he sits back down on the couch next to me. "Why, it'll happen when you least expect it, Kahl."

I cross my arms. "I hate you."

"No you don't," he smiles as he pokes my side.

"You're such a tease, and you know it!"

He chuckles at that, not bothering to disagree. I half expect him to call me a slut or something, but he doesn't. I guess I should expect more from him by now.

He said he wouldn't hurt me, right? He's been trying hard to convince me of it. I guess I still don't completely believe it and he probably senses that which is why we haven't made the next move yet.

It makes me begin to feel kind of sad and rejected.

"It'll happen," Cartman says in a more serious tone. "It'll happen when it's meant to. I don't want you to force or rush it. I'm not going to be going anywhere –"

"But you are!" I cut in. "How long are you going to be here, Cartman? You can't stay forever. You have work…"

He shrugs his shoulders, not giving it much thought. "I can commute. I can visit. We can work around that, Kahl."

"I don't want to," I mumble moodily.

"What DO you want?" he retorts. "You think by sleeping with me that you'll get to keep me?"

I open my mouth to protest, but then I stop… because honestly I have no idea what I'm thinking. "I don't know if by us closing the deal would make me feel like I'd get to keep you or not, but..." I struggle, feeling emotional. "I would like to keep you, if I could." I stare at my feet.

Cartman's expression softens and he tilts his head. "Awww, Kahl!" he muses and he steps forward, enveloping me in his arms.

"I'm being serious, _Eric_!" I use his first name, letting him know I mean business.

"I'm being serious, too," he says, pulling apart for a minute. "You DO have me," he squeezes my shoulders for emphasis.

"Not if you're leaving here soon," I say, concerned.

"Denver's not that far from here," he retorts.

"It's far enough," I say.

"Kyle," he starts, saying my name correctly. "Why don't we do something different today? Maybe go on a cheesy-ass date, like going to the mall?"

I like the idea of that, but I still want answers. "Don't try to change the conversation,"

"I'm not trying to change the conversation, Jew, but what's the point in worrying?"

"What if I'm just some fling or something?" I ask. "What if you're just using me so you don't feel so alone, here in South Park?"

I IMMEDIATELY regret saying that. Of course I am thinking about his mother's death, but I don't want him to get offended.

He lets out a sigh and stares at me. When I think he's going to yell or say something cruel back, he doesn't. He just says, "That's the fear talking."

I stare down, ashamed and embarrassed and guilty and angry all at the same time. "Yes…" I feel myself starting to get unpleasantly emotional. "I just… I've never felt this way about anyone before…" As I say it I can feel tears welling up. God, why the fuck am I crying? I'm such a damn child.

Cartman is staring at me with this piteous look. "Christ, Kyle… I'm not going anywhere. I promise. If you didn't mean anything to me, I would have fucked you and chucked you by now."

"I know," I mumble, pressing the palms of my hands to my eyes and trying to will myself to calm down.

He rubs my shoulder and says, "Come on, let's do something fun. You look like you fucking need it."

He's probably right about that.

We drive to the South Park mall and luckily find a parking spot not too terribly far out.

"Sooo, what are we shopping for again, exactly?" I ask, curious.

The brunet shrugs as he unfastens his seat belt. "I don't know. Clothes. Gay shit I guess."

I chuckle. "I mean, I have to admit that this does seem kinda gay,"

"Kinda gay?" he asks. We both step out of his car and close our doors, almost at the exact same time. "This is more like EXTREMELY gay, Kahl." He smiles.

I walk over to his side, shoving my hands in my orange parka. It's really fucking cold. "That doesn't bother you?"

"I really don't care what people think anymore, Jew," he retorts, shoving his hands deep in his pockets too. I notice how quickly he is walking. He's just as cold as I am, too.

We hurry into the building and I glance around. "It looks the same," I murmur. "I haven't been here in years."

"Why not?" Cartman asks.

I shrug. "Just… never really found reason to."

"You need to get out more, Kahl," he insists firmly. "It's not healthy to stay behind closed doors all the time."

"It's easier that way," I argue weakly.

Cartman looks thoughtful. "Well, hopefully that will change soon. You'll be getting your evaluation in a month."

I frown at that. "Yeah…"

"Are you nervous?" he asks.

I shrug yet again. "I don't know. Not really. Not yet. I probably will be soon, though… when the date is closer."

"Don't be nervous," he says softly. "They're just going to ask you some shit."

"Still," I mumble, "I don't really like to talk about a lot of stuff. It's hard to talk about things that I do to myself…"

He throws an arm around me as we walk through the mall. "I know, Kahl…"

I blush, feeling awkward walking with his left arm around me. I immediately look at the faces of other mall goers, and they are looking. A younger girl looks and smiles, amused. A group of younger high school guys look and look the other way, not really showing any opinion. An elderly woman scrunches her face, looking disgusted.

Maybe we ARE disgusting. At least, I am.

"Eric..." I say quietly, feeling a bit overwhelmed. "People are looking at us..."

"So?" he asks, turning his face to look at me. "Does that bother you?"

"Nah, not really." I take a deep breath, relaxing. Why do I feel a bit nervous and overwhelmed? Because I'm being "out" about my sexuality? Or is because Cartman is actually acting proud to be with me?

Maybe I'm not used to having someone actually want to be seen with me out in public.

"Why don't we go in here, Kahl?" Cartman pulls me from my thoughts as we stop at The Buckle.

"Ughh, the sales people can be so pushy..." I moan.

"Yeah they can be, but it's not hard to make them back off. Besides, I like their stuff."

I crack a smile. "Okay."

We head into the store and take a look around. Cartman removes his arm from my shoulder and instead takes my hand, dragging me around the store. I let him, glancing around.

Cartman continues to take me from store to store. We mostly window shop, but he picks up a few things for himself and he even buys me a sweater.

"You didn't have to do that," I insist.

He waves a dismissive hand. "Whatever, Kahl. Let someone to something nice for you for a change."

He takes my hand again as we leave yet another store.

"Want to grab a bite?" he asks.

"Sure," I say and we head to the food court.

We decide to eat at KFC. Typical. I don't complain, though. I grab a smoothie and while Cartman orders and then we meet at a table.

The brunet looks around returns with his tray from KFC. He takes a thigh out of the bucket and takes a huge bite. While he's chewing, he locks eyes with me and smiles.

"What?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "Nothing. I just like to look at you. You already know this, Kahl." He drinks his coke.

I chuckle. "Yeah, I know," I admit. "You know, it's been nice."

"What's been nice?" he asks.

"Going to the mall. With you." I can't help but smile. Now I'm being cheesy! "Thank you," I say, truly feeling appreciative.

"The pleasure's all mine, Kahl." He takes another bite. "Is that all you're having?" he asks, nodding to my smoothie.

"Yeah." I answer. He gives me a concerned look. "I'm just not that hungry,"

.

.

After eating and a little bit more shopping, we head to the supermarket to pick up groceries. It's a pretty random way to end the day, but I like it. It feels domestic and casual and… right. It feels like this is the way my life should be.

We walk past the alcohol aisle and my eyes linger and I feel really tempted. I can't help but recall the last time Cartman saw me here. Alcohol was all I was buying. I probably looked so fucking stupid.

This time is different.

Cartman buys protein powder, vitamins, spinach, mixed vegetables and berries. I buy some yoghurt and orange juice.

It's funny seeing Cartman shop for such healthy things.

So much has changed since we were kids; I am continuously being surprised.

Once we get back in his car, I stretch my arms after I fasten my seat-belt. I forgot how tiring shopping can be!

"So," Cartman says as he revs up the engine, "we've been really productive today, doncha think Kahl?"

"Too productive," I yawn. "I am really tired,"

He turns his head quickly, "Going to call it a day already, Jew?"

I scoff. "Please! It's only 4:30."

"Well, the way you're acting over here makes me feel like I'm driving Miss Daisy," he chuckles.

I sit up briefly to punch his right shoulder, hard.

"Gahdammit, that HURTS, Kahl!"

I laugh, feeling avenged.

"You want me to have a fucking accident?!"

"I want you to stop giving me shit," I reply honestly.

"But it's too easy," he says as he slows down to a red light at an intersection. Once he comes to a complete stop, his right hand reaches over and he pinches my cheek. "You're just so gahdamn cute!" He exclaims in a childish voice, like he's talking to Mr. Kitty.

I roll my eyes at the somewhat backhanded compliment. "You're dumb," I say lightly.

He chortles at that. "You love it."

Yeah, maybe I do.

I have fun with him. Maybe that's something important – something I've been missing out on with all my past relationships. Fun. Sure, there was sex… but there wasn't much else and whatever there was, it definitely wasn't fun. It was often me being a total leech.

I'm trying not to leech off of Cartman. I think he'd call me on it if I did. I don't want to be such a parasite when it comes to the people in my life, but it's hard and I get clingy. Why? I don't even know. It's something I know I need to work on.

I don't think I'll scare him away, but I still can't be sure. I can get crazy at times.

"So, where to next?" he asks.

"Wherever," I say carelessly.

He rolls his eyes at the expected answer. "Pick, Jew."

I notice the sun is starting to set and I can't help but let the very first idea that comes to my mind to run out of my mouth before filtering.

"Stark's Pond!" I say, excited. "...I mean, maybe?" I add, trying to sound more nonchalant. I feel my face turn a deep red color.

Cartman's eyes don't move from the road while he's driving, but a smile slowly crosses his lips. To my surprise, he doesn't say anything.

"I mean, it's just a thought." I add. "We can go back to our apartments if you want."

He glances over at me, still smiling. "No, no, Jew; Stark's Pond it is."

I feel as though I'm turning an ever deeper shade of red with just him glancing at me, grinning from ear-to-ear like that.

I don't really know what to say. I guess I'm waiting for some teasing, homophobic and/or racist remark from him. But to my surprise, he doesn't say anything. I notice that he's following through, taking all the familiar turns to head over to Stark's Pond.

Why is my heart beating so fast?

The nostalgia is enough for me to OD and I can't stifle the smile that spreads across my face.

"I haven't been here in a while," I say. "I love this place."

"Yeah, it's a nice spot," Cartman agrees.

I can't help but recall the amount of high school flings I've had here. It makes me roll my eyes. I remember Stan telling me about his first kiss with Wendy happening here. Kenny got to second base with Bebe Stevens here.

I guess we all have some stories like that. It was a well-known place for hook-ups when we were all younger. Plus, lots of parties and celebrations were held here and in the summer we'd all camp out.

I guess part of me misses those days.

They're long gone now.

Soon enough, we park and Cartman glances at me. "Wanna get out and walk around a bit?"

I smile again. "Sure."

I get out and close the down behind myself as I mosey on up to Cartman, who got out of the car faster than me. Once I'm standing in front of him, he turns and we commence to stroll by the pond. He's closer to the pond than I am.

It's getting chillier, but everything looks amazing. With the sun setting, the sky is a beautiful orange and pink mixture. The sun is lightly reflected on the pond as well. Almost for a moment, I forget how cold it is, but then I am reminded with a brisk breeze of cold air. I zip up my orange parka and shove my hands in my pockets. I feel Cartman nudge me, and I quickly look at him.

"Say something Jew," he says. "You're quiet, for once."

"What do you mean 'for once'?" I ask, still walking by his side.

He chuckles. "I'm just fucking with you Jew, relax."

"Oh." I say, feeling slightly embarrassed for jumping to conclusions.

"Lemme ask you something, Kahl," the brunet asks, his eyes on the ground, watching each step.

"O...Okay,"

"Did you have fun today?"

I'm somewhat surprised. Honestly, I was expecting him to ask a very deep and personal question, much like the majority of the questions he has asked me since he's been back in town.

"Well, yeah," I answer.

"Yeah?" he chimes. "Did you enjoy the mall?"

I shrug. "I mean, I guess. Ever since I've been working from home, I just stopped shopping for clothes. I don't really need new clothes like I used to when I worked in an office, you know?"

He nods. "I get it. Sometimes I get tired of spending so much money on clothes. But it's embarrassing when you wear the same shirt and tie twice a month. My myum taught me how to dress better than that," he smiles, locking eyes with me for a moment.

Oh my god.

I'll be damned if his smile isn't perfection personified. His messy light-brown hair moves a little through the cold wind. His cheeks and nose are a little pink from the cold. His eyes are soft and brown, full of life, compassion, and wisdom. The pond's sunlight reflected makes the perfect background for this gorgeous man, especially while we are walking. Wow, listen to me. I'm saying Cartman's eyes are full of life, compassion, and wisdom?! Maybe I really am losing my mind.

"You miss her?" I ask after gaining back my composure.

"All the damn time," he admits. "Honestly, I'm pretty sad over it. I mean, I know I probably hide it well, but it sucks."

"Yeah," I murmur. "I understand… Well, a little bit."

"Yeah," he echoes me. "It sucks even worse because she was finally piecing her life back together. She was on the right track. She was doing everything right. She was… I was proud of her. I was happy for her because she actually seemed like she was genuinely happy, at peace with where she was in her life. Then it all got ripped away from her because of some drunk piece of shit."

I feel myself frown. "Yeah…"

"That's life, though, I guess," he adds with finality. "It is what it is."

"True," I murmur.

He lets out a sigh and then turns to me again. "Anyway, enough with the dreary stuff."

I force a smile, though I feel a little bittersweet. It makes me feel sorry for being a damn alcoholic.

"You're doing well," Cartman says out of the blue, almost like he's reading my mind.

I let out a sharp laugh. "Really…" I whisper. "Sometimes I'm not so sure."

"You took the first step in seeking help," he says. "Also, you haven't been drinking much lately. Not that I've seen."

"Yeah..." I trail off, my mind full of thoughts.

"You miss it, don't you?" he asks.

I'm caught off guard. The very first thing I want to say is no, but I know that that would be a lie.

"Yeah, sometimes," I admit. "I'm just glad that I get to talk to a professional about it soon."

"And if this counsellor is kinda lame, you know that you don't have to keep seeing them, right?" he asks.

I nod my head.

I hear him take a deep breath while we continue to stroll alongside the pond. "I had to do that for a while until I found the right shrink for me."

I turn my head. "You- you see a counsellor?" I ask him, surprised. "Why didn't you tell me before?"

"Because it was a long time ago. And I never told anyone. It was several years ago, about a year after I moved to Denver," he explains. "My job was getting kinda shitty and people were getting fired left and right. A year went by and no raise, no promotion, nada. So I just assumed I was next. It was really stressful,"

"I see," I respond. Suddenly things are starting to come together. Is that part of the equation as to why Eric Cartman is such a decent human being now? Because he sought help?

"I was struggling with the whole 'sexuality' thing. I knew I liked women AND men, and I so I needed to talk to someone who would keep it confidential. Also... I felt guilty about leaving South Park," he explains. His voice softens at the end of the sentence. I knew why he felt bad about leaving his home town.

"You can't beat yourself up about that Eric," I say softly. "People graduate. They get degrees. Most of the time, they have to move closer to the city in order to use their degree." While I know what I'm explaining is true, it makes me realize how fortunate I have been with my career in that I never had to move far to work. "And besides," I add. "Your mother understood. She wanted you to follow your dream, Eric. Even if that meant moving further away from her."

He smiles faintly and then shrugs his shoulders lightly. "Yeah. Deep down, I know that. Still, it's kind of rough to deal with it. I wish I could have spoken to her about some of this shit, y'know? I feel like there is so much I never got to tell her. I feel like there are parts of me she never got to know… the better parts. I was such a piece of shit to her as a kid…"

"All kids are like that," I try to reason, though it's weak. Eric Cartman was a vile kid. He wasn't just mean, he was scary and it bordered on total insanity at times.

He snorts back a laugh.

"Do you like who you are now?" I ask him out of the blue.

"Yeah," he admits. "Yeah, I do. I feel like I'm a better person. I feel like I'm easier for others to be around, but I also feel more content with myself. Being a little asshole took a toll on my health." He pauses and chuckles.

I laugh along with him and say, "Well, that's what matters, right? You need to like yourself and be happy with who you are."

He nods his head and then asks, "Think you'll ever be happy in your own skin?"

"I don't know," I confess. It's a foreign possibility.

"I think you will be," he says confidently.

"You do?" I ask.

"I do. That is, of course, if you want to be."

I nod, just looking at my feet as we continue to move alongside the pond.

"Learning how to be a better person was no walk in the park," he continues. "It took work. But I think it was in college when I realized I was tired of not having many friends."

"Why do you think it was college that made you realize that?" I ask.

"Well you know how petty and shitty high school is," he responds. "But college- college was the first time I witnessed people our age actually having fun and feeling free."

"And you didn't feel that way?" I ask, a little surprised.

"Not really," he answers. "On the campus, in the classroom, I was around surrounded by people. But I felt just as alone as I did when I was in 3rd grade

I nod my head. "You feel less alone now?" I pry, hoping he does.

"Yeah," he says with a faint smile.

"I don't," I admit. "I mean, I look at my life as a whole and I feel so fucking miserable. I don't know what to do with myself half the time."

"You're on the right track," Cartman offers. "Especially as of late. You're doing well. You're making good choices."

"I hope so," I respond with a little laugh.

I always feel so unsure. Cartman makes me feel better, truly, but I don't want to depend on him. I don't want to become a burdensome parasite. I want to be content on my own and then I don't have to leech off of him. I want him to know I can take care of myself… but right now I can't and that's an undeniable fact. However, someday I hope that fact will change. I hope I won't be so damn wary every time I step outside by myself. I don't want to keep self-sabotaging myself. I don't want to keep doing things to hurt myself. I want that feeling of freedom Cartman mentioned. I can't really fathom it, but it sounds pretty nice.

Funny thing is, I used to think I was free. Maybe that's why I slept around. Maybe that's why I drank too much. I thought that my personal autonomy allowed me to completely screw myself over and do whatever I pleased. Looking back on it now, I doubt I even knew what the fuck the word "freedom" even meant. Maybe I still don't, but it sounds nice. Maybe with it comes a sense of happiness.

I don't even notice myself as I stop walking, I suppose I'm deep in thought.

Cartman keeps walking forward for a few steps before he realizes that I'm no longer by his side. He turns around, and while I can feel his big brown eyes staring at me, I can't seem to lift my eyes up from the ground.

"Cartman..." I trail off. I hear him and see him get closer. "I know this has been a really stressful time for you," I state. "But it means a lot that you took so much time out for me," I suddenly feel ridden with guilt.

"It was nothing," he says nonchalantly.

"I guess I didn't realize how selfish I was being," I breathe. "Sorry."

I feel his strong arms wrap around me, and my cold face is met with the warmth of his chest.

"You don't need to keep thanking me and apologizing," he says. "I know you were going through a rough time, too. Still are. And that's fine."

"Yeah," I whisper.

I begin to think about Ike again. I start feeling like I should call him, talk to him, tell him stupid shit like how my day is going. Maybe I'll do it later. I'll tell him I'm getting help. I'll ask him how he's doing. I'll ask him how he feels… because I truly want to know. I want him to be okay. I don't want him to keep suffering. He deserves so much better than all the shit life handed him. It makes me feel so fucking angry when I think about all the shit he had to go through at such a young age.

It isn't fair. It isn't right or just. I know that no one said life would be that way, but it shouldn't be this way, either. Little children shouldn't have to suffer.

I feel myself start to get a little emotional, so I decide to cut the thoughts short before they can pervade to a point that makes me crazy.

When we pull apart, Cartman offers me a small smile and puts an arm around me as we continue to walk.

He's warm. It feels nice.

I breathe with my nose buried in his neck and I smell his sweet scent. He smells like a mixture of body wash, cologne, and his own unique and indescribable scent. He always smells amazing.

After a few more steps, he stops walking and he stands in front of me, hands on my shoulders. I close my eyes as he got closer.

Despite the cold, his lips are sweet and soft just like they have been every time before we kissed. Cartman pulls away and tilts my face up towards his with his hand under my chin. He looks at me, as if analyzing me but also conveying what he himself is filling, and he looks happy. I'm not sure why, but he really does. His eyes are full of sheer bliss.

Our lips quickly meet again, but this time more fervently and quicker. It only feels natural when both of our mouths open and our tongues dance, with his arms wrapping around me tighter. I return the favor, already feeling somewhat breathless. I know I'm not breathless from the kissing, but from something else. I guess it's whatever emotion that I am feeling, whatever it is that I feel almost overwhelmed with. I think what it is is that my heart is full of gratitude... For once.

Part of me realizes how hard I'm falling for him, but the other part of me fears it.

I don't wanna mess this up because I actually feel like I've got something good going for me. For now, he keeps me grounded. I hope someday soon that I'll be able to keep him grounded, too.


	10. Chapter 10

**Eric****'****s POV**

I change the song on my iPod. I'm tired of listening to Fall Out Boy. They suck anyways.

9:17. Okay, doing good on time today.

I breathe deeply, continuing to manoeuvre on the elliptical.

I plan to meet with the realtor at 11:00. I asked her if she could update me on any possible prospects. She was vague and told me that she'd rather discuss it all to me in person. For Christ's sake I hope she has some goddamn news for me.

.

.  
After I get out of the shower at my apartment, I check the time. 10:34. Still doing good on time. I also see that Chris texted me. Chris Mays is a co-worker of mine and I get along with him the most at work. He is also funny, smart, and just as much of a smartass as I am.

_Can you talk?_

Instead of replying to him, I decide to call him.

_Ring. Ring._

"Cartman!" he answers, excited.

"Hey, piece of shit," I greet him. That's my nickname for him.

He chuckles. "How's it going in South Park?" His voice becomes a little more serious.

"Eh, it's going," I say. "How's work? Am I missing out on much?"

I hear him breathe deeply. "Eric,"

Oh shit. I know he's serious now.

"What?" I ask, anxious.

"Brad's going to call you soon," he states in a quiet voice. Brad is the operations manager, a.k.a. everyone's boss.

"...Okaaaay...?" I ask, not really understanding what Chris is getting to. "Does he plan to check up on me or some shit?"

"More or less," Chris says after some hesitation. "Honestly Cartman, I overheard talking to John the other day. They didn't think I could hear them but I did."

"What did he say to John?"

"He told John that he felt bad for your loss, but that you had been gone for almost a month now…"

Oh. I get it now.

"So, basically, someone is only allowed to mourn over their mother's loss for less than a month, right?" I ask, kinda pissed.

"Don't get mad at _me_, Cartman," he says. "But I wanted to give you a heads-up. After he said that, Brad also told John that he was going to ask you when you'll be back."

Well, this is a sack of steaming shit.

"All right," I say tersely. "Thanks for the heads up, then."

With that, I hang up.

I guess they want me back in the office. It's inconvenient, but I know I don't have anything to worry about.

I let out a breath, trying to figure out how I'm going to break the news to Kyle. I know this was inevitable, but it is still going to suck. He's going to get upset. I just hope he doesn't take it too hard. It isn't like this is the end. I'll still see him.

Truthfully, he's doing a lot better lately. I can tell he's actually trying now.

He's been calling Ike more. I don't know how their conversations go, though. I haven't pried and I don't feel like I really have a right to. Kyle will tell me, though. He'll tell me when he wants to tell me.

I just hope they're all right. I think Kyle internalizes Ike's pain and it's like a chain reaction. When Ike isn't okay, neither is his brother.

I'm really curious to find out what the fuck is wrong with Kyle. I hope he doesn't deny medication if that's the route the doctors want to go. There's a stigma, sure, but pills CAN help.

With a sigh, I decide to go and get dressed and ready for the day. I head to my closet and grab a fresh change of clothes, putting them on. When I'm decent, I head to the kitchen and grab a glass of water before making a sandwich.

Once I have the sandwich made, I put it in a zip-lock bag and I head out the door.

.

.

"It's good to see you again, Eric!" Erin the realtor gets up from behind her desk to firmly shake my hand as soon as I step in her office.

"Good to see you," I automatically respond, not really meaning it.

"How are things going?" she asks sympathetically in a soft voice.

"They're going," I respond monotonously.

"How was the funeral?" she pries.

I shrug. "It was fine, I guess." If I were my old asshole self I would probably snap at her for her fake interest in my well-being, but I figure it's better to just be indifferent. "How close are you to selling the house?" I ask, skipping the small talk.

"I wanted to let you know that I'm having an open-house this weekend," she smiles, as-if reassuring me.

I nod. "And...?"

"... And hopefully we'll find some serious prospects."

"You mean, there aren't already some serious prospects?" I ask. "I mean, it's been a couple weeks since I emptied and cleaned the house."

"And the house has been on the market for two weeks, right after you emptied and cleaned it," she answers firmly.

I look at her desperately. She gives me a sad and empathetic look back.

"Eric," she starts. "Like I told you the last time we met, not that many people are moving into South Park."

"But I _gotta_ sell the house!" I say without thinking.

"I know that," she responds.

"I seriously have to go back to Denver soon. I HAVE to get back to work."

"I understand –" she starts.

"No, you don't," I snap, starting to get angry. I don't have time for this shit. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to collect myself again. "Listen, I NEED to leave. Work is calling me back. I can't afford to stay here for much longer."

She nods her head and simply says, "I'll do what I can. I'm sure the open house will help."

"We'll see," I mutter.

.

.

After that shitty meeting, I'm feeling pretty down in the dumps.

I head back home and debate on seeing Kyle, but I don't want to start sulking around him. If I do, I'll have to tell him why I'm sulking. Then he'll start sulking.

But I knew this would happen sooner or later. Either way, I have to tell him and either way, he'll be unhappy. I really don't want his optimism and will to better himself to go downhill. He's very wishy-washy at times. When things don't go his way, he acts up. I don't want to be the cause of his poor attitude.

"Well, damn," I say aloud to myself, sighing audibly. I pace around my home for a few minutes. I just really fucking hope he doesn't cry. I don't deal well with tears.

My phone chimes with a text message. It's the Jew.

KYLE: _Hey Cartman, how are you?_

Speak of the Jewish devil.

ME: _I'm fine, you?_

A lie. Sort-of.

KYLE: _Good. Just riding back with my dad from visiting Ike at his new place._

And by 'new place' I know he means rehab center.

ME: _How is he?_

KYLE: _Good! He's doing a lot better than he was in detox_.

Although it's sometimes hard to get a "vibe" for someone's mood via text, i can tell that Kyle seems encouraged. He hardly ever uses a fucking exclamation mark. Now I REALLY don't want to tell him the bad news.

He texts again, before I can even respond.

KYLE: _Can I come over?_

I hesitate. I don't want him to come over. I don't want him to see me brooding over this shitty situation and I don't want to bring him down. But fuck it.

ME: _Sure_.

I start regretting it as soon as I hit send.

KYLE: _Okay. My dad will drop me off soon._

I put my phone in my pocket and sigh, running my hands through my hair.

This is going to be rough.

I sit in the living room and try to think about what I'm going to say to Kyle. I probably shouldn't beat around the bush. I should just come out and say it, even if he flips out.

Soon enough, my doorbell rings before opening. Kyle lets himself in, removing his shoes and sitting with me.

"Hey," he says.

"Hey," I echo. "How's Ike?"

Kyle wrinkles his nose and shrugs. "All right. They have him on some medication, but he's being monitored so he doesn't overdo it."

"Ah, probably a safe idea," I say.

Kyle nods his head. "Probably…" A pause. "So, what's up with you? You seem kind of down."

I let out a groan, leaning back in my seat and slumping. "Well… I got a call from one of my coworkers today…" I start. "They want me back ASAP."

Kyle frowns. "What?"

"I need to head back," I reiterate.

His frown deepens and his eyebrows draw together. "Oh…" He stares at his hands, processing what I just told him. "When are you going?"

"I don't know," I respond. "Soon."

"Have you sold the house?" he asks.

I sigh. "No, I haven't, Kahl."

His eyebrows furrow, again. "So you're just going to leave? Without selling the house?"

"I don't know… I guess," I say, honestly not knowing the answers to any of his questions.

"But it's so soon."

"It is."

"But once you're back in Denver, you probably won't come back here again, will you?"

"That's not true."

"But you have no reason to now," he argues.

"Don't be so fucking stupid, Kahl," I retort. "I'm going to see you,"

"Are you really?" he asks doubtfully in a soft voice. "Denver is two hours away. And you fucking hate this place, Cartman,"

Well, he is right about that.

"Two hours isn't that far," I decide to ignore the latter part of what the redhead said.

"It's far enough," he pouts.

"Well I'm sorry that I don't have a job where I can work-from-home and therefore I can live wherever the fuck I want to," I feel myself getting kinda pissed. Sometimes it really annoys the shit out of me when the Jew doesn't see just how good he does have it, despite his dysfunctional family.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asks, looking caught off-guard.

"It means you need to stop being so damn negative," I tell him.

He grits his teeth. "I can't fucking help it, you asshole!"

"Yes, you can," I say. "I know you can. You don't give yourself enough credit. It's like you just give up and you dwell because you find dwelling easier than dealing with things and changing things."

"We've already established that I have issues, Cartman!" he shouts, his voice shaking. I don't know if he's angry or if he's just sad. Maybe both.

"Don't let this change anything," I say. "You're doing well. You're finally getting help…"

He scoffs. "Whatever…"

I sit up and move onto the sofa he's seated on, putting an arm around him. "Look, it's not like I'm abandoning you. I'll still be around. In the meantime, just concentrate on yourself."

"It's hard to do that…" he murmurs, sounding drained. "When I think about myself, it drives me insane because all I can think is bad thoughts."

"Therapy will help," I say.

"Maybe…" he responds quietly.

"Look, Kahl," I start. "This isn't really what I wanted to do. I was hoping that my job would be a little more lenient and understanding given the situation, but I guess time is always money for them."

He sits there, just listening.

"Besides," I say. "If you really hate the long-distance relationship thing, you could move to Denver, if you wanted." I'm not really being serious throwing that out there, but I figure I'd just say it.

"I can't," he says sadly. "I would but I can't leave my family right now with everything that is going on with Ike."

Okay, that's understandable.

"Then we'll make this work somehow," I say. "Even if we have to both drive an hour and meet in that really shitty little town in between, we'll make it happen."

He lets out a little whine and then says, "Fine… Yeah, I guess…"

This is going a lot better than I initially thought it would. No tears.

"When are you going?" he asks.

"I'll have to head back this coming week," I tell him.

He nods his head. "All right…"

"Wanna make a night of it?" I offer. "I'll make dinner."

He perks up slightly. "Okay."

"Sounds good," I say. "What do you feel like?"

He shrugs. "Surprise me."

I smile slightly. "All right, but I'll go to the grocery store to grab a few things."

"Okay," he agrees. "I'll go home and shower and whatnot and meet you back here tonight."

With that, I walk him to the door – though it's only a few steps away. I peck him on the lips and he offers me a little smile before leaving.

When he's gone, I grab my wallet and my coat before slipping into my shoes. Then I exit the building, heading to the grocery store.

I'll whip up something fancy. I'll try to make him forget that in a matter of days I'll be out of here.

.

.

When I'm back home, I un-bag all the shit I bought.

I turn on the oven and get all the ingredients out. I figured I'd make lasagne. Sounds romantic, right?

My mind wanders while I cook. I can't believe I've been in South Park a month already. Damn. It really only feels like a little over two weeks, if that. Isn't it really fucking weird that I came back and started a relationship? And with the fucking Jew, of all people! I feel like I accomplished something by helping Kyle get help, or at least helping him get started to get help. But the main thing that I didn't accomplish was that I had come here to sell the house, which I didn't. I guess I'll call the realtor and ask her how I can the sell the house in her care with me back in Denver. I'll deal with that annoying shit tomorrow.

Life is so goddamn weird. You make goals, you set out plans, and then there will always be some weird-ass twist or turn that throws a monkey-wrench into your so-called "plans". And you just roll with it. You try to follow your gut feeling and do the next best thing, although sometimes it's not so easy to know what the "correct" answer is, or what the next best thing is to do.

Was I wrong for getting involved with Kyle? Was I wrong for leading him on, even though I knew I wouldn't be here for long? Nah. Fuck that. It can't be "wrong" when I know that what I feel for the Jew is real. I just want him to see him the way I see him. Beautiful, sweet, smart, and genuine. Maybe someday he will. I think he does believe that I really do see him that way, at least.

I think we'll be able to make it work. If we put in the effort, that is. Kyle might slip once in a while, but I'm not going to grind him for it. I get that he's struggling. I also get that he's trying… which means something, because trying is something I know he hasn't been doing in the past.

I think he's the kind of guy I could really, really fall for… and that doesn't scare me as much as it used to. I think we're a good match.

The only thing that worries me is what will happen when I leave. Will Kyle begin neglecting his health again? Will he cheat on me? God help him if he does…

If he cheated on me, I don't know how I'd feel. I don't know if I'd be shocked. I don't know if I'd forgive him. Maybe. I think it's something we'd have to talk about.

I don't want to think about this shit, but I can't help it. I feel like I'm fuelling the thoughts by even allowing them to cross my mind…

I shake it off for now and try not to let it consume me. Instead, I try to think about this moment right now. I'm cooking dinner for a guy I really fucking like. He'll be here soon. We'll eat. We'll talk. Then we'll see where else the night takes us.

.

.

_Knock, knock, knock._

"Well, hai, Kahl,"

I open the door and am very happy with what I see. Kyle is wearing an emerald green sweater over a white button-down shirt, with the collar, cuffs, and the tail ends of the shirt showing. His hair is curly but tamed with some gel. He stands in my doorway with both of his hands shoved in his jean pockets, smiling shamelessly.

"Hey, you," he greets me with a quick kiss on the lips. The Jew seems happy with how I look as well. I'm wearing a silky, black long sleeve shirt with a V-neck line and jeans. I always look sexy in black.

"You made something Italian, right?" he asks, still smiling.

"Yep," I answer. I'm happy that he seems to approve of this.

"Wow, you really set up!" he exclaims stepping into the kitchen. He notices how I have the table all set up with the proper setting of silverware, complete with multiple candles. I have two tall candles on the table and the rest are scattered throughout the kitchen, family room, everywhere.

"Glad you approve," I say.

He just smiles.

I'd ask if he wanted a glass of wine, but that would be a bad idea. So, instead, I pour him a glass of some sparkling fruity drink I know he'll like.

"Mm…" he says with approval after taking a sip.

We take our seats and I let him help himself because I know he isn't a big eater like I am. I watch as he takes the first bite, gaging his reaction. I don't know why I'm nervous since I know he'll like it. I'm a bomb cook, after all.

"Wow, this is really good!" he says to me.

I smile. "Glad you think so."

We chat mildly, talking about simple things. I know if we brought up heavier shit, then neither of us would even feel like eating.

I love making him laugh. I love watching him laugh. I love that I can still make inappropriate, racist jokes and, while I can tell that they still piss him off, he laughs at them, too. Maybe the most adorable thing about our relationship now is that I can make anti-Semitic jokes and he doesn't get so riled up anymore. He may tell me to go to hell, but I can tell that he doesn't really mean it anymore. Not like he used to.

"How did you know that I love lasagna?" he asks, still digging in.

I shrug. "I didn't."

"Then why did you choose it?" he asks.

"Because everyone like Italian food, _Jew_!" I pick up and throw my cloth-napkin at him and it lands in his face. Flustered, he tries to throw it back but it lands on the floor next to me.

"Ha! You suck!" I tease.

"Fuck off Cartman!" he laughs, embarrassed by his weak throw.

"It's okay Jew," I say, bending sideways to pick it up off the floor. "Your self-worth is not based on how well you can throw napkins."

He rolls his eyes at me, smiling slightly. "You're such a douche."

"Yeah, but you love it," I say knowingly.

He snickers. "Yeah, I guess I do."

.

.

After dinner (and dessert) we move into the living room and I let him pick a movie. He picks some sappy, gay-ass movie I've never heard of, but I don't complain. I want this night to be special. I want him to enjoy himself completely, so if I have to sit through a boring movie I don't really mind.

I have an arm around him and his eyes are glued to the screen. I guess he's enjoying the movie enough for the both of us.

I kind of zone out and stare at him the entire time instead of actually paying attention to the plot.

When it's over, Kyle asks me, "What did you think?"

I shrug. "It was all right."

He smiles faintly. "Did you even watch it?"

"Not really," I admit with a laugh.

He laughs along with me. "I guess I should've picked something more up your alley."

"I don't mind," I promise him.

He smiles again, but then falters, staring at me. "What now?"

"Whatever you want, Kahl," I say.

With that, he shifts, moving forward and pecking me on the lips once, twice and then a third time.

I kiss him back, and at the same time our mouths open and our tongues intertwine. We wrap our arms around each other, but before things get too heated, I pull myself apart. The redhead looks at me, confused. I stand up and offer my hand. He takes it, his eyes never leaving mine. I smile and the Jew has a faint smile on as well, but he looks slightly apprehensive. We don't say anything as I lead him into my bedroom. I guide him to the side of my bed and I sit down. Kyle stands there still, facing me.

"Sit next to me, Jew," I direct him, patting the side of the bed next to me.

"Alright, Cartman." Still holding my hand, he sits next to me.

"Have you enjoyed tonight?" I ask.

"Oh yeah, definitely!" he quickly responds. "Thank you,"

With my free hand I play with his curly hair and decide to mess it up a bit. "No, Jew. Thank YOU."

Kyle scrunches his face. "For what?"

I sigh, actually feeling nervous. "I've always liked you, Kyle. I never thought I would actually ever be able to tell you that, but here it is. Even when we were little. I could never leave you alone. Even if I had to annoy the absolute shit out of you to get your attention, at least I had it sometimes." I chuckle, feeling myself turn red. "Besides, you know how it is when you're young. You tease whoever you secretly like."

Kyle flushes slightly and his lips quirk upward. "Really…?"

"Really," I say.

"Wow…" he murmurs. "That's really sweet, Cartman…" He pauses. "Eric," he corrects.

"I like how it sounds when you say it," I tell him.

"Then I'll be sure to say it lots," he responds. His smile widens slightly and then he adds, "I never thought we'd be here… but I am glad we are. I'm really, really glad."

"Me, too," I promise.

Then I kiss him again. Things get a little heated and I let myself slip a hand beneath his shirt, feeling the warm, smooth skin on his flat stomach. He feels nice.

He moans into my mouth and I feel like I've been waiting to bed the Jew for years instead of weeks, but I wasn't kidding around when I said I wanted it to be special. I want to show him how important he is to me. I want him to be sure of it before we do anything… and I think he finally is.

I very slowly start to unbutton his shirt but he quickly catches on and helps me out. We kiss passionately, hands moving fervently, tongues dancing in between moans and breathes for air. Kyle pulls the sweater off over my head, and I he throws it to the ground somewhere. I grab the front of his belt when suddenly I can feel the Jew trying to say something as he roughly pulls away.

"Wait," he breathes. He sits up on the bed and catches his breath. I do as the Jew instructs me, totally shocked. He's being going on and on about this for the last month and now HE's the one telling ME to wait?!

"What is it, Kahl?!" I ask, slightly pissed and frustrated.

"Eric, I..." He breaths more, staring at the ground. Meekly, his eyes eventually meet mine. "I still haven't gone to the... doctor yet... you know..."

"Oh..." Is all I can say, not thinking about that at all.

"I made the appointment, remember?" he continues. He's still staring at the ground.

That's right. Fuck.

I nearly forgot.

"Er," I pause. "Do you want to wait?"

"I don't know," he says. "I thought that it might make you want to…" He frowns, eyebrows drawing together. "I've just been contemplating it a lot recently…" he starts. "I should start being more careful, right? I don't want to…" he trails off, but I get the gist of what he's saying.

"Gotcha," I tell him. Then I smile, in an attempt to reassure him.

"You're not mad?" he asks.

"No way," I promise. "You're being very responsible. I like that. I definitely don't mind waiting a little longer."

He smiles faintly. "Good."

I think it's nice he wants to be careful. It's a good sign. It makes me feel like he's really taking things seriously – with me and with himself. He doesn't want to throw it away and he wants to play it safe.

"I'm proud of you, y'know," I add.

He chuckles. "Well, I don't really feel like I've done anything that warrants it… but thank you. It's definitely not often that I hear things like that."

I put my arm around him, sitting next to him.

"Aww, FUCK," the Jew says.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"I really wanted to," he says. Then he chuckles. I laugh, too.

"It's okay Kahl," I say. "It'll just even more special when we _do_ do it", I smile, knowing had goddamn cheesy I sound.

The redhead punches me in the shoulder, conveying his annoyance but laughs at the same time. I in turn tickle his sides, turning his laughs into uncontrollable fits of giggles.

"Dammit Cartman you asshole, STAHHPPP!"

But of course I don't. The Jew quickly turns the tables and starts tickling me! I roll further unto the bed, trying to escape. Fuck, now he knows that I'M ticklish!

"Fuck you, hahaha, you fucking Jew! Heeheeheehee!" I realize how I don't sound very threatening. "MERCY!" I shout and he finally relents, giving me a devilish grin.

So, instead of getting into it, we spend the night watching television and talking. It's nice. It's always nice to spend time with him.

Yeah. I really, really think I'm falling for him.

.

.

A few days later, I drive Kyle to the clinic to get his physical done. I sit in the waiting room and when he returns, he looks sour.

"I hate that shit," he mumbles.

"The invasiveness?" I ask.

"No," he says, "the questions… and then the judgement that inevitably comes with my responses. I always get asked what STOPS me from playing safe. Like… I don't fucking know. It just happens."

"Ah, yeah," I sympathize. "People are toads."

"It's not like I'm not trying," he mutters.

"I know," I tell him. "I can tell you are. You're doing really well with everything."

He sighs and shrugs, looking a little hopeless and put off.

"Don't let this upset you," I add as we leave the clinic, heading to my car.

"It's hard not to," he admits. "Little things set me off."

"C'mon," I say as I get the door for him.

"Thanks," he says while he proceeds to the car.

"No problem Kahl," I respond and I rev up the engine. "Where do you want to eat?"

He shrugs. "Doesn't matter."

Well, it's not like I didn't see this coming.

I pull up to an In-And-Out Burger without asking for his approval. I knew that would have been a waste of time. After we order and sit down, I dig right in, but the Jew just sits there, brooding.

"Come now, Jew," I start. "Don't worry so much about it that you won't eat."

He sighs. "I know." He slowly picks up his hamburger and takes a bite. "They said I should know within the next two days."

"I'm sure it'll be fine Kahl," I reassure him while I stuff a few fries in my mouth. But honestly, I'm not sure. I'm just really, really hoping that it will be. Both for him and for me.

He raises a brow, sceptically. "Liar," he calls me out. "You're not sure. No one is."

I drink some of my coke, thinking about how I should rephrase what I just said. "It most likely _will_ be okay," I articulate, and that feels more sincere.

He breathes deeply, again. "I hope so," he continues to brood. He takes another bite of his hamburger, still in deep thought, gazing out in the distance.

I throw a fry at him.

"What the fuck?!" he asks, offended that I forced him out of his brooding. "What was that?"

"I just threw a fry at you, Kahl," I say while chewing. I drink some coke and smile proudly.

He looks at me with a pouty expression, but I can tell he isn't really sour about it. "I wanna be better," he says again.

"You keep saying that," I point out.

"I know," he responds. "I keep saying it because I want it to really, really sink in… for you, but for me as well."

"Actions are louder than words," I say.

"I want to stay on track," he argues.

I nod my head. "You will. Things are different this time. I can tell."

"Yes," he agrees softly.

"And soon enough you'll know what's going on in your head," I add.

"Three weeks," he mumbles. "Seems like forever…"

"Time flies," I tell him. "Just try not to think about it until it happens. Worrying doesn't do any good."

"I'm a worrier," he snorts. "I worry about everything I shouldn't worry about and I don't care about things I should care about…"

"Do you worry about Ike?"

He shoots me a surprised and confused look. "Of course I worry about Ike," he responds. "Why do you ask me that?"

"Because," I start before I throw a couple of some more ketchup-dipped-fries in my mouth, "if you worry about Ike, then you DO worry about things you should worry about," I chew and drink my coke, "so what you said isn't necessarily true."

He looks down. "Maybe..."

"You're too hard on yourself Kahl," I say. "Stop it."

"Stop what?"

"Stop being so goddamn hard on yourself," I assert.

"I don't mean to," he explains, playing with a french fry in ketchup. "It's just out of habit, I guess."

"Then try to break the habit," I continue. "Do you ever think that maybe it's not that you're as messed up, or incapable, or as damaged as you think you are, but instead that you are a normal human being who has been through some traumatic shit and you're just trying to figure out how to deal with it all?"

He drops the fry that he was playing with just a second ago and his big green eyes widen and they lock onto mine, as if a deer in headlights.

He stares at me, speechless. I can tell that he's trying to formulate a response but he is drawing a blank, because he's thinking about what I just said, over-analyzing it.

"Because that's what I think it is, really," I say. I take another bite of my hamburger while he just sits there, acting like a statue. "The more I get to know you, the more I realize that you're just human, just like everybody else."

He wrinkles his nose. "I don't know…"

"Everyone struggles, Kahl," I continue. "Some people struggle a little more… but we all struggle nonetheless. You need to cut yourself some slack. You're not some horrible person."

He lets out a long breath, staring down at his food. "I know. Gah, I guess I'm just whining…"

"You're allowed to vent," I assure him. "I don't mind listening… but I don't really like to hear you talk down to yourself."

"I'm sorry," he murmurs.

"Don't apologize. I get it. I mean… your self-esteem needs some work."

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. "I'll say…" A pause. "I don't really know how to fix that, though?"

"Fake it 'til you make it," I tell him simply. "I mean… that's what I used to do."

He snorts. "Yeah, I guess. It's hard, though."

"Everything is hard in the start," I say. "Then it all gets easier."

"You're right," he murmurs, finally glancing up at me. "Which STILL sounds weird to say."

I snicker at that. "Whatever, JEW."

"So," he starts. "Any luck with the house?"

I shrug. "None that I'm aware of. I'm meeting with the realtor tomorrow. We'll have to figure something out."

"You mean so that she can sell it after you leave South Park?" Kyle asks sadly, drinking his coke.

I nod solemnly. "Yeah. We're going to work out all the pain-in-the-ass logistics of doing that."

"When do you plan to leave?" He asks.

"No later than next week," I answer. "I emailed my boss to let him know why it has been taking so long, because of the damn house." I have mixed emotions saying that, because that house does represent where I grew up and so many good childhood memories. But it also reminds me of my myum, and I try not to think about her and how much I miss her. For now. In the future I imagine it won't hurt as much.

"And how did he respond?" the Jew asks, pulling me from my thoughts.

That's right. My boss. "It seems like he was satisfied since I gave him a date for when I'll be back, which is next week."

I finish off my hamburger when the Jew finally says, "I'm going to miss you, Eric."

I can't help but let a smile sneak up on my lips. "I'm going to miss you too, Kyle."

"It won't be the same," he adds.

"It won't be much different, either, though," I say. "I'll visit as much as I can. You'll still see me at least once a week."

"I feel like I'm the kind of person who needs support and guidance," he murmurs the confession, "and I feel like, lately, you've been providing me with it. I like to pretend I'm so independent and that I can take care of myself and whatever… but I can't – not right now, not at this point in my life."

"Try," I plead with him.

"I will," he promises, "but I'm scared." He wrinkles his nose at the admittance. "Ugh, I hate saying that out loud, but it's true. I don't want to fall back into old habits."

"You won't," I insist.

He frowns, looking contemplative. "I hope you're right."

"Just think about your goals and keep them in mind," I say.

"My goals…" he repeats. "Well, I want to be better – for myself, for my family… hell, for you, too."

I smirk at that. "You must like me."

He chuckles. "Yeah, a little bit." He pauses and in a more serious tone he adds, "No… I really do. A lot."

"Well, I really like you a lot, too," I respond.

"Remember what I told you that one time, Kahl?"

He scrunches his nose. "What was that?"

"That the only thing in life that doesn't change, is that things change."

The redhead stares at me for a moment, then his expression softens as he smiles. "Yes, I remember." He laughs lightly. "That was a LONG time ago, Cartman. How do you even remember that?"

I reach across the table with my hand open and the Jew catches on and offers his hand. "I just do, Kahl. I remember all my interactions with you."

His grip on my hand tightens. "I always kinda knew that you liked me, Cartman," he asserts.

I raise a brow. "Did you now, Kahl?"

"I did," he chuckles. "Well, maybe I didn't know, but I had a pretty strong hunch. I mean, you did go out of your way to piss me off,"

"And I still do," I say sweetly.

He laughs, not arguing with that.

"You're going to be fine with me back in Denver," I say.

He softens. "A few more days and you're gone," he murmurs.

"Yeah," I say. "Time really flew."

"Promise you'll call?"

"Every day," I tell him.

.

.

After eating, we head back. Kyle comes to my apartment and I say, "Want a drink? I've got water, orange juice, milk…"

"Water is fine," he says.

So, I grab him a glass and then I grab myself a glass and we sit in the living room. "So, how do you feel?"

"All right," he insists. "How do you feel?"

"All right," I echo. "This was probably the most eventful month of my life, y'know… all things considering. You were the best part of it."

Kyle snickers. "That means a lot, especially when one recalls all the things we've been through as kids."

"This is better," I insist.

He seems glad to hear it. "Good."

After a little while, he gets up from the couch. "Well," he says. "I should probably go to bed early. I actually have a lot of catching up to do with work tomorrow."

I nod and follow him to the door. Christ, I don't even want to think about all the shit that is waiting for me when I get back to Denver.

"Call me tomorrow after you meet with the realtor," he says.

"Of course, Kahl," and with that I lean in for a kiss.

"Good night, Fatass" he says.

"Night, Jew."


	11. Chapter 11

**Kyle's POV**

Days later, I don't get a phone call from the clinic, which means everything is A-okay and I can finally breathe a sweet sigh of fuckin' relief. No STDs this time. Thank fucking God. The last thing I wanted was for Cartman to have known he was kissing me while I was riddled with infection. Shit happens and maybe he wouldn't have cared... but it still wouldn't have been a pleasant feeling. It never is. It sucks. Even the carefullest people can end up on the unlucky end of things.

Cartman calls me later in the day, like he always does. I tell him the good news. He seems happy for me.

"So, still nothing about the house?" I ask.

Things haven't been going well for him trying to sell it.

"No," he murmurs, suddenly sounding annoyed and short-tempered. "I have no fuckin' clue how I'm going to find a sucker to buy it. No one is moving in this town - especially not INTO it. Everyone living here is nice and settled."

"True..." I admit solemnly. "Tiny towns are like that."

Tomorrow is Cartman's last night here. I'm upset about it, but I know it's immature and unfair of me to get all worked up, so I'm trying to remain mature about it.

"We worked something out so that once someone makes a decent bid that I want to accept, I'll come that weekend to sign the paperwork," he explains.

"And see me too, right?" I can't help but ask.

"Of course, Kahl," he replies sweetly. "When are you off work?" he asks.

"In 3 more hours," I moan. "But I plan to use my paid time off for tomorrow."

"You don't have to do that for me, Kahl,"

"But I want to," I say. "Gotta make your last day in South Park special, don't you think?"

He laughs. "True. I've been trying to get all my packing finished today, so that I don't have to worry about that shit tomorrow.

"Yeah," I say, feeling a little solemn.

I wonder how long we'll last when he's gone. It might make me sound paranoid, but I keep thinking about what will happen tomorrow, next week, next month, next year…

I don't want him to meet someone new – whether it be another guy or a girl. It worries me. He'll be off in a city much bigger than South Park and I won't ever know what he's doing. It's not that I don't trust him and shit… I do. It's mostly just the fact that I think he could easily find someone better than me. I guess it's a self-esteem issue.

Nonetheless, I don't want to bring it up. It sounds stupid in my head and it would sound even stupider aloud.

"So, what's up?" he asks me. "You're being quiet."

"Nothin'," I say, trying to sound more upbeat. "Just thinking… working… You know the drill."

"Liar," he says, calling me out much like I did him not that long ago. "Don't be so down. Denver's not that far."

"Yeah, yeah," I say dismissively. I feel like two and a half hours IS too far but there's no point in arguing about it anymore.

"You want me to come over when you're done with work?" he asks.

"Sure," I say, although I don't know what we'll do. Talk, dinner, and make-out, like usual? With finally getting my results back I'm sure he would want to have sex now and feel much better about doing so, but then again maybe he wouldn't. Maybe I wouldn't want to. What if we do and then I never see him again? I would feel so fucking stupid and used. Sure, I've been used plenty of times before but to let someone in the way I have let him in- it's been years since I've let myself be so vulnerable with someone else.

"Or we could go out and do something fun, since you don't have to work tomorrow," he suggests.

"If that's what you want to do, then sure," I go along with it. "What did you have in mind?"

"You know what we should do, Kahl?" His tone suddenly seems excited.

I can't help but smile at whatever asinine idea Fatass has already schemed up in his head. "What's that, Cartman?"

"We should go out for a night on the town!" He declares.

I raise a brow, although he can't see it. "A night on the town, Cartman? Doing what exactly?"

"Well maybe not here, but Colorado Springs is closer than Denver is. We should go there for dinner, and then, shall we say, paint the town red?"

I can't help but laugh. "All right, sounds good," I say.

I can practically feel his satisfaction coming through the receiving end of the phone. "Great. Swing by around six and we'll head out."

"Sounds good," I tell him.

With that, we exchange byes and hang up. Then I get back to work.

.

.

Around four, I'm free and I scramble to get ready. Two hours is plenty, but I'm the kind of person who takes a while to get ready. Mostly because I like to take my time.

I shower first, since I neglected to do that in the morning. I decide against doing anything about my hair. I'll let it stay in its natural state. I hate using too many hair products. They always feel gross at the end of the night. Besides, I'm no longer that little kid who is wildly insecure about his hair. Now I just find other things to be wildly insecure about.

I only use a certain amount of product in my hair, just enough to tame my curls a bit. But I decide to not try to glue them to my head with gel like I used to. I want to be comfortable tonight. I want to be myself tonight. After all, I guess that's the person Cartman has been really starting to like.

After shaving I put on some Sauvage by Christian Dior, then head to the closet. I search in my closest and find a dark green button-down shirt. I'll iron this and this should be dressy enough. Next, I already know which jeans I want to pair it with (tight fitting but not extreme), as well as some black leather dress shoes.

I look in the mirror one last time. I leave the first two buttons on my shirt unbuttoned. I guess I DO look good! Green is always a safe choice for me since it brings out my eyes. Man, I can't wait to see what Cartman is wearing tonight. I'm practically drooling at the thought. With his perfect, buff body and handsome face, he would look great in anything. Sometimes it really is a challenge to compose myself around him, and not just by the way he looks. It's his mannerism, his behavior, how much he cares. He's something else alright.

I look at my cell phone. 5:45. Should I text him yet?

I decide yes.

A moment later, he texts back and tells me to come by. I pocket my phone and slip into my shoes and coat before heading next door.

I knock before simply letting myself in. "Hey," I call.

A moment later he appears with a smile. "Hey," he says, adjusting the cuff on his shirt. "Ready for some fun?"

"Always," I respond, smiling back at him.

With that, we head out. He digs his keys out of his pocket, locking his apartment door.

"So, where to first?" I ask him.

"It's a surprise," he says.

I don't complain. For once, I'll just go with the flow. He grabs my hand as we exit the apartment, letting me go when we reach his car. We settle inside and begin driving.

"Colorado Springs, right?" I ask.

"Yep, so it'll be a good drive, but it'll totally be worth it Kahl. Promise."

.

.

After about an hour of driving, we pull up into what looks like a really snazzy restaurant. I see gold lettering outside on the front entitled "Anthy's". Cartman puts his car in park and then gets out to gives the valet driver his keys. He hurries over to my side to get my door. He opens up and offers his arm, all old-fashioned like. I giggle and take it, knowing that we have to look cheesy as fuck. But I don't care. When we walk to the entrance of the restaurant, Cartman opens the door and theatrically gestures for me to go first. I lightly shove his shoulder in retaliation but step inside.

Wow. This place is decadent.

I immediately take notice of the large chandelier which is probably the biggest damn chandelier I've seen in my life. I also notice the fountain up against the wall, which has a renaissance-looking statue of a woman wearing a toga-like dress nonchalantly pouring water out of her basin. Everything- and I mean everything- seems to be trimmed in gold, even the large desk area where several hosts were waiting. All the waiters were wearing white button-down shirts with black bow-ties as well as dress pants. The hosts were wearing the same thing except they had on a tuxedo blazer in addition. It's strange, but I haven't seen a single female waitress or hostess.

"Good evening gentlemen," one of the hosts greeted us. He was older, maybe mid 40's, but in shape and well-groomed. "Do you have a reservation?"

"Two for Cartman," my brunet counterpart responds confidently.

All I can say is that I'm glad I actually took the time to look decent today. This place is choice. I've never been to a restaurant as nice as this one. It's almost intimidating – like I'm afraid I'll somehow fuck up and people will think I don't belong here. The last thing I want to do is fuck things up. I feel like I've done enough of that lately.

We're lead to a table in the corner – nice and private. Once given our menus, the host departs and tells us our waiter will be with us shortly.

"Damn, this place is nice," I say.

"Only the best for my guy," Cartman coos.

I give him a little smile and then open up the menu. "I have no idea what to get," I admit. "Have you been here?"

"For a couple meetings," he says.

Part of me wonders if those "meetings" were actually dates, but I let it slide. I'm not going to let my insecurities ruin a nice night out.

"What's good?" I ask him.

"Everything, Kahl, really," he responds.

I take a look and see that there are a lot of French dishes. "Is this a French restaurant?" I ask.

"I don't know if I would say that it is a French restaurant per se, but there are a lot of French inspired dishes."

I look again. Champignon portabella aux quatres fromages. Crevettes sauce boursin. Moules marinieres ou a la creme. What the fuck?

"I don't know what any of this shit means Cartman," I admit, frustrated.

"There's a few classic dishes. Why don't you try beef bourguignon? Or maybe the crepe de poulet? Those are my faves." he suggests calmly before taking a sip of water.

I sigh. "I know the first thing you suggested has beef, but what is the second one?"

"The crepe de poulet?" he asks. I nod. "It's basically a crepe with chicken, cheese and broccoli. It's pretty fucking amazing, Kahl,"

"I'll take that, then." I sigh. A part of me feels frazzled, being in a place like this. It's really too high-class for me. But then another part of me feels honoured and even kind-of giddy being here. Maybe that's the old me telling myself that I don't deserve to be in a place like this, and the new me is contradicting that and starting to believe that maybe I do actually belong here.

I feel a warm hand on my knee that pulls me from my thoughts.

"Relax, Jew," the brunet says. "There you go, over-analyzing shit again. Can you promise me one thing, kike?"

"What's that?" I ask, having no idea what he will say next. Hell, it's always been that way with Cartman.

"Promise me you'll try not to think too much tonight and that you'll actually keep your head where your feet are." He smiles and squeezes my knee, his big brown eyes looking gorgeous.

I smile back and say, "All right. I'll definitely try my best."

When the waiter shows up, he asks us what we'd like to drink. Cartman looks at me first.

"Water is fine for me," I say politely.

I know if I ordered wine, Cartman would give me the business… understandably. The last thing I need right now is to be drinking alcohol of any kind. Right now, it's not something I can do. I can't pace myself. I can't just have one drink. I need to have five or seven.

Honestly, I don't know if I'll ever be able to pace myself. I might just have to avoid the hard stuff forever.

I've been debating on going to AA meetings when Cartman leaves. I need something to keep myself on track and that might be a good start. When he's gone, I don't want to relapse. Meetings might not be for me, but trying it out wouldn't hurt. I'll never know if I don't try, right?

Cartman orders himself a non-alcoholic drink as well and then the waiter tells us she'll be back to take our orders soon.

I wonder if Cartman would have ordered alcohol if he was here with someone else. I wonder if he's going to abstain because of me. I don't want to force that on him. It makes me feel kind of guilty.

"Do you know what you're going to get to eat?" I ask him.

Before he can answer my question our waiter comes to the table.

"Are you ready for me to take you order, gentlemen?" he asks.

"I'll have the beef bourguignon," Cartman starts, smiling.

"I'll have the crepe de poulet," I order, feeling a bit self-conscious with the French pronunciation.

Once the waiter takes our orders and takes our menus, he leaves.

"So, we basically ordered your two favorites, right?" I ask my brunet counterpart. He smiles and squeezes my knee under the table.

"That's right Kahl. This way, we can share and I can have both of my favorites," he chuckles.

"You mean have your cake and eat it too?" I ask, smiling.

He shrugs. "Something like that." While he's looking away, I take him in for a brief second, hoping he doesn't know what I'm doing. Moses, does he looking breath-taking wearing a classic, wine-red button down shirt. Cartman has just the first two buttons un-buttoned, his muscular chest showing just enough where he's definitely being a tease. His brown hair is parted perfectly off to the side and, in a way, he resembles a brunet, modern-day version of James Dean.

"Speaking of cake," he starts, "I know these two dishes are going to be fucking phenomenal, but don't fill up too much, Kahl. You're going to have to need to save room for dessert."

I laugh while drinking my water, almost causing me to choke. "So you're going to force dessert on me, Cartman? Really?"

"Really," he insists. "And you must order the most indulgent dessert."

"All right," I agree with a little laugh.

I need to loosen up. He helps me to do that by taking me to all these new places and forcing me to try new things. Well, perhaps 'force' isn't the correct word. It's not like it's completely against my will. It's just not something I have experience with.

I never left my comfort zone until he started bringing me out like this. I think it's a good thing, I really do.

I listen to Cartman talk about his favourite desserts on the menu, smiling to myself. He sounds so passionate when he talks about food. I guess that's one thing that will never change.

"What?" he asks, cutting himself off when he catches me staring.

"Nothing," I say. "You're cute."

He chuckles at that. "All right, then. So are you."

I just smile wider, feeling all swoony.

"By the way, what did you have planned after this?"

"After this?" he asks. I nod. "Well, I was thinking that maybe we should go to Reign and have some fun there." He winks at me, obviously implying something. I have heard of Reign before, but I can't remember what exactly it is. I sit there, puzzled. I know it's in the back of my mind.

Oh shit.

"Cartman, we are NOT going clubbing!" I protest, now remembering what it is.

"Gahdammit, Kahl! Calm your tits!" he snaps back.

We get a couple of stares from nearby tables.

"Calm your tits," he says in a much lower voice. "You don't have to drink to dance and have fun. I'm going to prove it to you."

"I never went out when I drank," I started. "Clubbing isn't my scene!"

"Kahl, I know you went clubbing back in school," he argues.

"That was years ago, Cartman!" I say. "Things are different now!"

"How so?" he asks, taking a drink of water.

I cross my arms. "I just don't do stuff like that anymore."

"Stuff like what? Having fun?" He chuckles and wears his eat-shit grin with pride.

"I have fun," I insist, but the words sound stupid – like a blatant lie. Before Cartman walked back into my life, I definitely didn't have fun. I stayed in. Fun, to me, was letting assholes into my bed and drinking 'til I forgot all about my problems.

"Oh, do you?" Cartman asks teasingly.

What does good, healthy fun look like? I guess it looks like this – going out with someone you like, doing new things…

But it still makes me nervous. Trying new things causes me anxiety. Here Cartman is yet again throwing me out of my comfort zone. Hopefully I won't land on my face.

"Yes," I say. "I have fun with YOU."

He softens at that. "Aw," he coos. "Well, I'm glad to hear that. I have fun with you, too, Kahl."

It isn't too far into our conversation when the waiter brings out both of our entrees, which look and smell delicious.

I take a bite of the chicken crepe and I feel as though it blows my expectations out of the water.

"Damn, Cartman," I say in between chews. "This really IS good!"

He smiles while cutting into his beef bourguignon, "I told ya, Kahl." He drinks some of his water, looks at his plate, and then looks back at me. "Do you want to try some of mine?"

"Sure," I answer.

He forks off a piece and, instead of putting it on my plate, holds it up and says, "say, 'ahhh!'"

I giggle, embarrassed. I hesitate, but decides to go along with it. "Ahh..." I say timidly, feeling immensely stupid.

"You can do better than that, Kahl." The brunet says, clearly not satisfied. "Now say, 'ahhh!'"

"Ahhh!" I open my mouth wider and say it a little louder.

He slowly puts the piece of the beef bourguignon in my mouth and I close my mouth, staring my date directly in the eyes. His big brown eyes watch me intently, and once my mouth is shut, he slowly pulls his fork out. I slowly chew, but not for an instant break my gaze with his.

"Good?" he asks me expectantly.

I nod and smile before swallowing. "Very."

He smiles back. "So, I have good taste?"

"Oh, yes," I say. "You're with me, after all."

He chuckles. "That's true."

I feel like I'm grinning a lot lately. I guess he brings that out in me. I feel like I went years without smiling at all. Maybe there were fake smiles here and there – the kind you put on to get people to shut up… but this is differently. This is real. I don't have to think about it, it just happens. It's something I do effortlessly.

I guess that says a hell of a lot about how I feel about him.

Eric Cartman.

Who woulda thunk it?

I'm really falling hard for him.

It was not long that we finish our entrees, and I barely notice as the waiter comes and takes our plates out of the way.

"By the way," the handsome brunet starts, "You look really good tonight, Kahl. Been meaning to tell you that."

I immediately feel my face turn red as I tuck my chin into my chest. "Thanks," I respond timidly. I eye him, once again noticing how perfect his hair is and his neatly ironed, buttoned-down shirt. He looks chic and classic. "You look amazing yourself," I breathe.

"Oh Kahl," he dramatically says my name and grins. "You are too sweet,"

"Well, you know I really mean it," I say.

He nods. "Yeah, I do."

I grab his hand under the table and squeeze it tightly. "I mean it Cartman," his big brown eyes lock into mine, his expression serious. "You look really, REALLY good tonight," I reemphasize. Suddenly I realize how I'm starting to feel kinda turned on, so I let go of his hand and turn my gaze to my lap. I have to behave myself for once, to show Cartman that I am more mature than he thinks.

I think he senses it, because he gives me this funny little smile. There's nothing mocking about it, though. He just looks a little pleased and amused.

We fall into a comfortable silence and eat our food, chatting mildly every so often and adding comments here and there. When we're finished our meals, we have grandiose desserts and then Cartman pays the very expensive bill. I can't deny that it makes me feel a little bit bad, but I'm trying not to let it. I'm trying to tell myself I deserve to be treated every so often.

I do, right?

And if he wants to treat me, then he should, right?

"What's on your mind?" he asks me knowingly.

I just shrug it off as we leave the restaurant. He puts an arm around me then adds, "Don't worry about the bill."

"Okay," I say softly.

I wouldn't have been able to afford it anyway.

"So, what else is on the agenda for tonight?" I ask him.

"We're going to Reign like I stated earlier," he answers in a matter-of-fact way.

Oh shit. I should've known he was being serious.

I sigh as we walk outside and we wait for the valet driver to pull up his car.

"I should've known there was no talking you out of it."

"Stop acting so moody Kahl," he says. "You will enjoy it."

I shrug. "Whatever makes you happy, Cartman."

We continue to talk on the way to the club. I hear the loud club music with the pounding base even in the parking lot. Once we park, I can already see the long line of people all dressed up and waiting to get in. Even over all their heavy coats, I can see how all these 20 and 30 somethings are looking their absolute best tonight. "Dammit, we should have come sooner!" I look at the time on my phone. It's 11:00. That IS early for a club to be pack already.

"Patience is a virtue Jew," he puts his right arm around my shoulder. "It'll go fast," he says.

"You come here often?" I ask, the cold winter air being reflected as I speak.

He chuckles in that boyish way of his. "I've never been here before," my companion says. "I've just heard a lot of good things about it."

I should probably try to let loose a little bit. If I don't, then there's no way I'm going to have fun.

I don't really club. This isn't my scene. It's Cartman's… and maybe he's bringing here because he wants to share it with me. So, I should stop being so sour. I let myself relax, physically and mentally. I force the tension to leave my body and then I reach for Cartman's hand, taking it in mine. He glances at me and smiles.

"Good?" he asks me.

"Good," I say.

True to his word, the line does go fast and soon enough we're in the nightclub. I take a second to glance around and admire everything that's going on in front of me – bright, neon lights, drinks, loud club music and bodies dancing so closely together.

"Ready for more fun?"

I give him a little smile. "Yeah."

We walk to a busy bartender wearing a suit but had full tattoo-sleeved arms and large gauges in his ears. We wait for him to take notice of us. I can't help but wonder what Cartman plans to order now. When the bartender sees us, Cartman orders a red bull and then turns to me.

"Whaddya want? A water? Coke?"

"I'll have a red bull too." I figure I'm going to need the energy as well.

"Two red bulls please," he orders. The bartender promptly brings back two red bulls and Cartman pays.

I open it and take a swig. It reminds me of my college days, when I did occasionally go out and party. But usually I was drinking red bull with vodka, not by itself.

I notice some of the people in the club look to be my age and even older and are clearly feeling the effects of alcohol while they were dancing on the dance floor. Christ, some of these people are a good bit older than me and they actually look like they're having fun. I guess sometimes I feel like- because of how badly I've hurt myself over the years- I feel older than I actually am. Truth is, I've been jaded and tired. I've been feeling like my best days were behind me. But then again, how would I really know that my best days were behind me if I didn't put any effort into today?

"Wanna dance?" Cartman yells in my ear so that I can hear him over the loud R&amp;B song. I don't move.

"C'mon Kahl," he gestures me towards the dance floor.

"But what about our drinks?" I ask. He takes my drink and puts both of the red bulls on a ledge near the dance floor. He doesn't even respond while he grabs my hands and walks me to floor.

I look down and see that the floor is actually lighting up. This club is really nice. It's set up like an opera house; the DJ on the stage and the VIP is up high on the balconies, looking down on us at the floor. I look at the people around me, dancing and clearing not giving a fuck what anyone thought. Some people can dance while others... Well, not so much. I know which category I fit in.

"Hey Jew," my date yells while he cuts a rug, looking a bit goofy. I can't help but laugh.

"Ya just gonna stand there all night or what?"

Very awkwardly, I start moving, trying to remember how I used to dance back in the day when I was messed up. How could I remember, I was hammered all those times!

"C'mooon, you can do better than that," he teases me. "You know what they say about Jews – they have no rhythm. Wanna prove the old saying wrong?"

I roll my eyes at that. "It's not a saying, you dork. You're the only one who says that."

"So?" he asks with a snort. "Don't be afraid of looking silly. You really need to loosen up!"

I bite the inside of my cheek. I don't want to feel nervous, but I kind of do. I'm not really one for dancing these days. Only when I'm super smashed and I'm definitely too sober for it right now.

Nonetheless, when Cartman holds out his hands, I tentatively accept. He leads me into a fast-paced and ridiculous dance as we sync up with the tune of the song. I can't help but laugh. I feel fucking stupid, but I guess it's fun. I'm trying not to care. I'm trying to remind myself that no one cares how silly I look. Half of them look just as silly.

"See?" Cartman says to me, raising his voice so it's loud enough to hear over the loud music. "It's fun, right?"

I let out a breathless laugh.

He's so good at this. He's so good at being sure of himself. He's so good at pulling me out of my shell and making me feel comfortable.

I like being with him. It's always something new and exciting.

It sucks he's leaving.

I'm going to miss having him so close.

Denver is close enough, but it's still kind of far.

Still, I'm going to try not to think about that tonight. I'm going to try and have fun – for Cartman's sake. Plus, I know he'd probably just roll his eyes at me if he knew I was sad to see him go.

After a couple of fast paced songs, the DJ plays "Liquor" by Chris Brown. I roll my eyes at how cheesy it is.

"Don't like Chris Brown?" Cartman asks with a sly expression.

"Not especially," I say. I do think that it has a sexy sound to it, but I would never admit that. Gradually our bodies get closer. I start to think less about my dancing the more I stare into those big brown eyes, locked right onto mine. Cartman is smiling pleasantly but his expression turns more serious as our bodies get closer. I barely notice his hand on the lower back of my back. Before I know it, we're actually grinding on each other! I turn red while I feel my pants get tighter. I glance around and see a bunch of other folks doing the same; none of them seem to be watching us or care that two guys were grinding on each other.

I feel a hand gingerly but firmly turn my gaze back to his face. Cartman doesn't say anything but the message he conveys is clearly in his eyes. He's definitely saying, "look at me", which I do. I can't help but notice how hot my brunet friend looks while he's sweating but he still smells amazing, with whatever cologne he's wearing. I don't notice myself sweating but I do notice both of our breathing getting heavier while I put my arms around the back of his neck while our hips continue to gyrate deeper and deeper, harder and harder.

I'm ready to leave. NOW.

Cartman senses this because he eyes me and then nods to the door, silently asking me if I am ready to head out. I nod back and he grabs my hand again.

"Yeah, let's go."

So, we do. Outside, the cool air greets out sweaty faces and I'm realizing just how hot it was in the club. I glance at my phone, pulling it out of my pocket. We were only there for a couple hours, but it felt like longer.

"My place?" I offer.

"Sure," he says. "That sounds good. We'll make a night of it."

I think we have been. This is the most fun I've had in quite a while and I almost don't want it to end. But it's inevitable. This would be a nice way to end it, but I don't know if we'll actually end up screwing tonight. I want to, but he seems to want to take things slow. I guess that is nice, but I also really like sex and I want to have sex with him. I really want it. Especially now. He got me all riled up.

Cartman lets go of my hand and puts an arm around me instead, keeping me close. It feels like a possessive gesture, but I like it.

Not too surprisingly, the drive home is a bit awkward and silent. Part of me thinks we are just trying to cool off with the windows down and the cold night air cooling us on the way back, but I know that the real reason is because we're both thinking and wondering about tonight.

As much as I want us to finally do it, I'm also thinking about tomorrow. Regardless what happens here on out, I know how sad I'm going to be. It's really a bittersweet feeling.

"Didja have fun, Kahl?" Cartman finally breaks the silence, smiling but his eyes still fixated on the road. I chuckle when I realize just how fast he's going.

"I had a fucking blast," I respond.

"See, Jew?" he says. "Life is fun when you put yourself out there. It's calling 'taking risks'," he says facetiously.

"I know I know," I respond sarcastically. A couple of seconds go by, and then I add, "Seriously though Cartman, thank you. For everything."

.

.

When we pull up to the apartment complex I suddenly feel like there's a 50 pound rock in my stomach. My heart is beating faster and I almost feel nauseous. Shit, why am I so nervous?

He opens the door for me while I get out and shakily fish for my keys in my pocket. We get to my place and I unlock my door. We both walk in, somewhat fast, kicking out shoes off immediately.

Silence.

I stare at him and he stares at me. I feel like time has stopped. My heart is going absolutely crazy. In a naturally and organic way we get closer and all of a sudden we're kissing each other passionately, arms wrapped around each other, grabbing and wanting. Cartman gently pushes me up against the wall while he hurriedly kisses my neck, making me moan. He presses me up against the wall harder and I wrap a leg around him. He kisses my neck and unbuttons my shirt, leaving a trail of kisses on my neck and traveling down. I run my fingers through his once perfectly-groomed hair and roll my head back.

I let out a moan. Before I can stop myself, I think he hears it because he lets out a throaty chuckle and says, "Eager?"

"Don't tease," I respond, sounding somewhat breathy.

"But teasing is the best part," he says sweetly.

Of course he'd like that part.

His hands touch the skin on my stomach. His palm slides up and down. His hands are warm and strong. They feel nice.

I tighten my grip on him and he lifts me up. I put both legs around his torso and he walks us into the bedroom. He's strong. I like that. It makes me wonder what he's like in bed. I hope he's a little controlling. I hate wishy-washy guys who just let me do whatever I want. That's no fun.

When we reach my bedroom, Cartman lays me on the bed – not too gentle and not too rough. I perch myself up to stare at him. "You're ready to do this?"

"More than ready," I assure him, I roll onto my side and reach into my nightstand drawer, getting out a box of condoms and a bottle of lube.

He smiles a small smile. It looks sincere, unlike so many of his smug or spiteful smiles. "All right." He leans down and kisses me, quick and chaste, before sitting back up. He pushes my knees apart and settles in between, reaching for the button on my pants.

I want him to fuck me senseless.

My heart keeps beating like a drum, though. Never before has sex made me nervous. Well, maybe the first time… but that's something I hardly remember.

"I'm going to take my time," Cartman says, almost like he's trying to assure me it won't hurt… but it won't. I'm loose enough by now. I'm used to it.

"You don't have to," I say vaguely.

"Well, I'm still going to," he responds. "I want this to feel great for the both of us. Here, lift your hips."

I do so and he removes me pants in one swift motion.

After he takes off my pants, he swiftly pulls my boxers off and then my shirt. He unbuttons his own shirt and lets it fall to the floor, revealing his buff chest and six pack. I reach out to take off his pants but he unbuckles his belt, reading my mind. He quickly takes them off and I see that he is most definitely packing and looks hard as fuck. I reach out and grab him.

"Mmmm..." Cartman moans and smiles. I lean forward, trying to re position myself. Before I could though he grabs my shoulders and pushes me back on my pillow, almost roughly. He kisses my neck and travels down, from my chest to my stomach. I run my hands through his messy, thick brown hair. It isn't long before he takes me into his hot mouth and sucks me slowly but hard, still working his hands all over me.

"Oh God!" I cry in ecstasy. I don't even notice when he takes a second to put two fingers in his mouth to then inside me while he resumes sucking me. Moses, he knows what he is doing more than any fuckboy that I've fooled around with. I close my eyes, whimpering. If he keeps this up I may get off before we actually have sex, which is not what I want to happen.

"Shit," I say, letting out a shuddery sigh, squirming around beneath him.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Fucking hell.

It feels good. _He_ feels good. Too good. And he's so fucking hot. He's probably the hottest guy I've ever been with. He definitely knows what he's doing, unlike half the clowns I've been fucked by. He's hitting all the right spots and he isn't even fucking me yet. Thinking about it is making me even hornier.

"Hurry…" I murmur breathlessly.

He lets out a chuckle and then teases me with, "Just relax and enjoy, Kahl. I like seeing this side of you – you're so coy and cute, like a little kitten."

"Sh-shut up," I respond, stuttering out the words stupidly.

He snickers some more, shoving his fingers in deeper and then moving them around.

I've been craving this and it's going to be SO satisfying.

He takes a break for a quick second down there and bends over to kiss me. He stops, and with a slight smile asks me, "You ready?"

"Oh yes," I immediately breathe out. With that he grabs a condom and the lube that I had out on the nightstand and I watch with anticipation while he puts it all on. Then he bends down and kisses me again, passionately but sweetly. I look into those big, brown eyes that now have a more serious expression. He straightens his back and gently pushes my legs apart wider.

"OH FUCK!" I yell at the sensation. It shoots through my body and for a second I feel paralyzed. I quickly get my feeling back when Cartman pulls out and then pushes back in. He first does this a few times at a slow pace but gradually he goes faster.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, YES!" I cry in rhythm to our bodies moving in unison. That indescribable feeling comes back but instead of feeling paralyzed, I feel my legs and feet go numb.

"Mmmm Kyle..." he pants my name, pronouncing it correctly. The sweat on him is very visible and it only makes him look hotter.

"Fuck, Eric!" I moan, feeling myself getting closer.

At this rate, it's really not going to take me long at all. I haven't been fucked since he caught me with that random loser those weeks back. This is so much better than that. This is so much better than any other cheap fuck I've had in the past. For the first time in a long time, this isn't a distraction. This isn't something I'm doing to hurt myself or to numb myself. This isn't something I'm doing with the wrong person. This is something I'm doing with the right person. This is something I'm doing because it's the right thing to do. It's the perfect time to do it.

Cartman is treating me like I'm worth more than I used to think. I never used to crave that kind of attention, but now I get lost in it.

It makes me want more for myself. I never used to let myself have good things. I want things to stay this great, but I feel like things will inevitably come crashing down soon enough. Nonetheless, I won't think about that now. I'll just enjoy things until they do. I'll just enjoy this moment.

I palm at my erection, slowly rubbing up and down. I hiss, letting out another string of expletives, followed by a string of whiney moans.

With my right hand I reach out and grab Cartman's left hand. We interlock fingers and hold each other's hands tight, knowing that we were almost there.

I rub myself with my left hand hard, each stroke being at the same exact time he gyrates deep into me.

"Kyle, I'm- gonna- ugh!" my lover tries to say between breaths. My cries get louder and now I realize I'm starting to scream while my version turns dark and I see stars. My legs and feet tingle and Cartman's hand starts shaking, still holding my hand tightly .Then, on Cartman's final thrust he lets out a long, husky moan and I come at the same time, feeling it all over my left hand and stomach. He breathes heavy and takes a moment before he carefully pulls out. The first thing he does is bend over me and kiss me, caressing my face.

"Are you okay?" he whispers.

I smile and nod. "That was- amazing," I say, trying to catch my breath. Cartman lies down on top of me, now playing with my hair.

"And what you did with your mouth!" I continue. "I just wish you would've let me return the favor,"

Cartman shrugs nonchalantly, still playing with my hair. "Sometimes it's good to let yourself be spoiled," he says. "And I felt like spoiling you."

I smile at that. "I'll have to spoil you next time, then."

"Deal," he says, smiling back.

He rolls off of me a minute later and we lie side by side. I inch closer and then curl into him, throwing a leg over him. I feel possessive. It's a feeling I get sometimes towards certain people. It makes me wonder if he feels this way towards me, too. I hope he does, but I don't want to ask him. I want him to prove it to me, instead.

"Today was perfect," I say. "Everything about it."

"For me, too," he responds. He starts playing with my hair some more and I close my eyes. It feels nice. It makes me drowsy. I often get drowsy after sex. I also usually want to be left alone, but right now it's the last thing in the world I want.

It's going to break my heart to see him go.

I know he'll be back, but will it be the same?"

As if he is reading my mind, he whispers, "Don't think about it."

"Okay," I whisper back.

I won't. For now.

I'll try to welcome new changes instead of shying away. Change is inevitable, after all. Maybe this was all inevitable.


End file.
